The Joys of a Beard
by Soledad
Summary: The youngest Princess of Mirkwood is forced to marry someone from Elrond's household. But what if her heart belongs to someone else? GL slash a Mary Sue! Yeah! You have been warned! WIP.
1. Chapter 1: Princess Green Leaf

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** Starting with G and going upwards. No idea yet how high it might become. I'll give the rating separately by every new chapter.

**Summary:** This is the ultimative 10th-Walker story, set in the early phases of LOTR's creation, as demonstrated in the HoME-books 6-10. Warnings: Mary Sue, slash and slight crazyness.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance of the worst sort. No intended humor whatsoever!!!

INTRODUCTION

(Boring, I know, but necessary. Do us both the favour and read it, instead of nitpicking on me afterwards. Otherwise, I'd be righteously annoyed, and you don't want me to send my pet Balrog after you. He's a nasty little fellow.)

This story was inspired by a discussion on the Axe & Bow mailing list, considering the question why there are so few Legoals/Gimli slash stories. One of the group members said that part of the problem was of aesthetical nature. After all, has anybody ever seen a Mary Sue chasing Gimli?

Well, I'm not particularly fond of Legolas/Gimli slash (even though I've read some beautifully-written stories), but a good challenge is a good challenge every day. So, here you have your ultimative 10th-Walker, Mary Sue, Legolas/Gimli slash story, complete with a rebellious Elven princess and her super powers and stuff. As Deborah could tell you, I strongly dislike the label ''slash'', for it has become an equivalent of badly written, pointless smut, but this time it's fitting. Well, I hope not the badly written part, but the story is rather pointless, honestly. Hey, it is a Mary Sue, after all!

Nevertheless, it's not a parody. One of the most important traits of a Mary Sue is that it's taken very seriously, and I have tried to follow the guidelines of creating a honest, original, down-to-Middle-earth Mary Sue religiously, while keeping the general story of the Ring Quest. All humour that might emerge comes from the fact that the Mary Sue is there in the first place.

However, the story settings might be a little confusing, since the books I am folllowing here are not the final, published trilogy but the earlier drafts Christopher Tolkien gifted upon us in the HoME-books(1) 6-10 Many of the descriptions and the dialogues are vastly different from those of the LOTR-books, but are genuine Tolkien lines nevertheless, quoted more or less directly. Even some of the names – those characters or places – are different. For example, Aragorn (or Ingold son of Ingrim in our case) is called Trotter instead of Strider, though I kept him a human, even if he had been a hobbit for quite some time in Tolkien's imagination.

There also will be an Appendix where I list up the changes and also give you a visual, casting (or recasting) some of the characters.

Oh yes, the names of the Mary Sue have been created with the help of the insanely funny Middle-earth name engine on the barrowdowns website.

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(1) The History of Middle-earth, edited and published by Christopher Tolkien.

The volumes of a total of 12 I used for this fic are:

Volume 6: The Return of the Shadow

Volume 7: The Treason of Isengard

Volume 8: The War of the Ring

Volume 9: Sauron Defeated

My heartfelt thanks to Nemis who offered to beta-read this insanity and encouraged me to post it.

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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

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**CHAPTER 1: PRINCESS GREEN LEAF**

**Rating:** G for this chapter.

**Summary:** This is the grand entree of our heroine. She comes and conquers all hearts – except the one she's longing for. But life is rarely fair to Mary Sues, and elder brothers are usually a pain in the backside. Not to mention evil, royal fathers who always try to marry their daughters to the wrong man… Elf… whatever.

**Author's note:** This is basically a collage of the more complete text parts found in HoME 6 or 7. Only the lines considering the Mary Sue and the reactions of the canon characters are mine. Just that it's clear. ''All Tolkien's'' has a literary meaning thorough his whole story.

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Frodo awoke early next day, feeling refreshed and well. Sam brought him breakfast, and would not allow him to get up till he had eaten it. Then Bilbo and Gandalf came and talked for a while. Suddenly a single bell rang out.

"Bless me!" cried Gandalf. "The council is in half an hour. That is the warning. I must be off. Bilbo will bring you to the place, as soon as you are ready. Sam had better come with you." And off he was, ere he had finished the last word.

Half an hour later, Bilbo and Frodo made their way up and down many stairs and passages towards the western wing of the house, until they came to the appointed place. Sam trotted a little forlornly after them, wondering why on Earth his presence would be required.

The council was held in a high glade among the trees on the valley-side far above the house. A falling stream ran at the side of the meeting place, and with the trickling and bubbling of the water was mingled the sound of many birds. There were 12 seats of carved stone in a wide circle; and behind them many other, smaller seats of wood. The ground was strewn with many red and yellow leaves, but the trees above were still clothed with fading green; a clear sky of pale blue hung high above, filled with the light of morning.

When they arrived, Elrond was already seated, and beside him, as at the feast, were Gandalf and Glorfindel. Glóin was there also, with a younger Dwarf, whom Frodo later discovered was Burin son of Balin(1). A strange Elf, clad in green and brown – a messenger from the King of the Wood-Elves in Eastern Mirkwood, was seated beside Burin, and next to him, in a long, silky silvery-green gown, sat an Elf-maid of such exquisite fairness that it took Frodo's breath away.

Long, ebony tresses framed her pale, heart-shaped face, and her eyes were dark like the night sky – rather unusual for an Elf, but not entirely unheard of. Young she looked, yet there was innocent wisdom in those bottomless eyes, and it seemed as if she was wrapped in some mystic power like in an invisible cloak. Nevertheless, she had a striking similarity with the fair male Elf who sat beside her, Frodo found, maybe they were related somehow.

"Who is she?" he asked Bilbo in a low whisper, but even so, the fair Elf-maiden heard it and looked over to him with a melancholic smile. That single look nearly pierced Frodo's heart; how could a creature of such unearthly beauty be burdened with the sorrow that mirrored in her beautiful eyes?

Bilbo followed his look and grinned. Being old and battered, the almost irresistible charms of the maiden let him rather cold.

"Oh, her? That is the Lady Alkarainien(2), Princess of Mirkwood, the only daughter of the Elvenking I was… erm… visiting during my adventure with the Dwarves. She was sent here in the company of her brother, Prince Legolas, because she is to be married next Elven New Year."

"Married?" Frodo was devastated and felt mindless jealousy rising in the darkest pits in his heart. "To whom?"

"To one of Elrond's kinsmen," Bilbo shrugged. "I know not – and I care not. Come on, my lad, the Council is about to start. They are only waiting for us."

Frodo let himself being ushered further into the glade, taking a quick look around. Trotter(3) was there, of course, and all the rest of the hobbit party, Merry, Folco and Odo(4). There were besides three other counsellors attendant on Elrond: one an Elf named Erestor, and two other kinsmen of Elrond, of that half-elvish folk whom the Elves named the Children of Lúthien(5). And seated alone and silent was a Man of noble face, but dark and sad.

"Here," was Elrond saying, turning to Gandalf when they entered the glade, "is Boromir from the Land of Ond(6), far in the South. He arrived in the night, and brings tidings that must be considered."

Frodo followed Elrond's nod with his eyes. He had not seen many Big People before they arrived in Bree, and never one from the far South. But even in the Shire, there were strange tales about the proud land of Ond, the last stalwart tower of Men that still dared the evil forces of the Black Lands, even under siege of the wild men of the East.

_What a strong, valiant Man he must be, making that long journey from Ond to here alone_, thought Frodo, gazing admiringly at the handsome face of the big Man. But Boromir paid him no attention at all. The keen, grey eyes of the Man lay on the lovely face of the Elven Princes in a lustful manner that made Frodo shiver delicately. He only hoped that the Prince of Mirkwood – or the one the Princess had been promised to – were vigilant enough to protect her from this lustling.

The fair maiden felt the burning gaze on her face and looked up shyly, raising slightly a slender hand as if she wanted to protect herself from this intrusion. Thin golden rings with tiny gems of different colours glittered on three of her fingers, and Frodo was sure the gesture had some power in it, for Boromir slowly turned his gaze away, as if ordered to do so. After that, the Princess lowered her long, ebony lashes again and cast her eyes mutely at the paved floor.

Elrond rose now and invited Frodo and Bilbo to take the seats next to Gandalf, while Sam and the other hobbits were directed to the wooden chairs in the second circle. The Master of Rivendell then introduced Frodo to the other guests, and thus the Council began.

It would take long to tell all the things that were spoken at that council. Many of them were already known to Frodo, so he only listened with half an ear, admiring the pale beauty of the Mirkwood princess instead. Though if he wanted to be honest, he had to admit that her brother was no less beautiful, in his woodland garb of soft leather and rough linen, the silken cascade of his ebony hair adorned only with elaborately bound, thin braids, twisted into a lover's knot above each delicately pointed ear. Still, in Frodo's eyes Legolas was but a silver shadow against the shining moonlight of his sister.

Gandalf spoke long, making clear to those who did not already know the tale in full the ancient history of the Ring, and the reasons why the Dark Lord so greatly desired it. Bilbo then gave  an account of the finding of the Ring in the cave of the Misty Mountains, and Trotter described his search for Gollum that he had made with Gandalf's help, and told of his perilous adventures in Mordor.

Thus it was that Frodo learned how Trotter had tracked Gollum as he wandered southwards, through Fangorn Forest, and past the Dead Marshes(7), until he had himself been caught and imprisoned by the Dark Lord.

"Ever since I have been greying," said Trotter with a shudder, and though he said no more, Frodo knew that he had been tortured and was still hurting in some way or other. But he had been rescued by Gandalf and saved from death(8).

In this way the tale was brought slowly down to the spring morning when Gandalf had revealed the history of the Ring to Frodo. Then Frodo was summoned to take up the tale, and he gave a full account of all his adventures from the moment of his flight from Hobbiton. Step by step they questioned him, and every detail that he could tell concerning the Black Riders was examined(9).

Elrond was also deeply interested in the events in the Old Forest and on the Barrow-downs. "The Barrow-wights I knew of," he said, "For they are closely akin to the Riders (10), and I marvel you at your escape from them. But never before have I heard tell of this strange Bombadil. I would like to know more of him. Did you know of him, Gandalf?"

"Yes," answered the wizard. "And I sought him out at once, as soon as I found that the hobbits have disappeared from Buckland. When I had chased the Riders from Crickhollow I turned back to visit him. I daresay he would have kept the travellers longer in his home, if he had known that I was near. But I am not sure of it: he is a strange creature, and follows his own counsels, which few can fathom."(11)

"Can we not even now send messages to him and obtain his help? " asked Erestor; he was a tall, elegant Elf with noble and stern features and clear, grey eyes. Frodo had the feeling there was precious little that Erestor would not notice – and that he could be a dangerous enemy if insulted. "It seems that he has a power even over the Ring. "

"That is not quite the way of it," the Elven Princess answered in Gandalf's stead(12), and her voice was soft and sweet like honey. "The Ring has no power over _him_ or for him: it can neither harm nor serve him: he is his own master. But he has no power over it, and he cannot alter the Ring itself, not break its power over others. And I think that the mastery of Tom Bombadil is seen only on his own ground – from which he has never stepped within my memory… or the memory of our Elders."

"But on his own ground nothing seems to dismay him," said Erestor, casting a look full of proprietary pride at the Princess. "Would he not perhaps take the Ring and keep it there for ever harmless?"

"He would, perhaps, if all the free folk of the world begged him to do so," she sighed. "But he would not do so willingly. For it would only postpone the evil day. In time, the Lord of the Ring would find its hiding place, and in the end he would come in person, and the Barrow-wights with him like an army of Death."

"I doubt whether Tom Bombadil, even on his own ground, could withstand that power," Gandalf said in grim agreement, secretly stunned by the great wisdom of such a young person; for the Princess was truly young by the measure of her own fair kin. "But I am sure that we should not leave him to face it. Besides, he lives too far away, and the Ring has come from his land only at great hazard. It would have to pass through greater danger to return."

"If the Ring is to be hidden – surely it is here in Rivendell that it should be kept," the Princess added, looking shyly at the Lord of the Valley through the silky curtain of her half-lowered lashes; "if the Master of this House has might to withstand the coming of Sauron and all his power?"

"Alas, I have not," said Elrond ruefully, for his heart ached that he had to crush the hope of such an innocent child.

"In that case," said Erestor unhappily, "there are but two things for us to attempt: we may send the Ring West over the Sea, or we may try to destroy it. If the Ring had gone to the West long ago that would have perhaps been well. But now the power of the Lord is grown great again, and he is awake, and he knows where the Ring is. The journey to the Havens would be fraught with the greatest peril. On the other hand we cannot by our own skill or strength destroy the Ring; and the way to the Fiery Mountain would seem still more perilous, leading as it does towards the stronghold of the Enemy. Who can read this riddle for us?"

"None here can do so," said Elrond gravely. "None can foretell which road loads to safety, if that is what you mean. But I can chose which road it is right to take, as it seems to me – with some help." With that he turned to the Princess and added gently; "Lady Alkarainien, it is said that you not only are of many names but of many gifts as well, gifts that come rarely even to the Firstborn. Would you open your heart to Elbereth and ask her for counsel and guidance?"

"You know not what you ask for," Prince Legolas interrupted him angrily. "The visions drain the strength of my sister, they are painful and could do her great harm!"

"Ssssh, brother mine," the Princess soothed him, laying a gentle hand upon his arms that were protected by strong leather wrist-guards against the string of his bow. "Master Elrond is right. We all must do our duty in order to protect the free peoples of Middle-earth. You have your strong arms and your bow. I have… other means to serve."

Legolas paled even more, but argued no longer, seeing the wisdom in his young sister's words. Still, the anguish left not his deep green eyes as the Princess folded her hands upon her lap and closed her eyes, focussing on some inner voice in the depths of her _fëa_(13) where Elbereth, the Lady of the Stars sometimes spoke to her. It was obvious that Legolas had been right – the vision _did_ drain her of her strength, and she also seemed to be in some sort of pain, so that even Erestor half-rose from her seat, but Elrond's iron grip held him back.

Finally, the Princess opened her eyes, but they were unfocussed now, and her voice was strangely detached, and she spoke as if in trance, "The choice is clear. The Ring must be sent to the Fire." And with that she fainted into her brother's arms.

This caused great anxiety among the Council members, of course, and Elrond himself helped the Prince of Mirkwood to carry her sister back into the house, where she was laid upon one of the guest room's bed and taken care of. The Lord of the Valley decided that they should continue their Council later, when the Princess had some time to recover, and everyone returned to his own chambers, waiting in anguish for news about the health of the Princess.

TBC

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**End notes:**

(1) No, seriously! For a short time it was Burin and not Gimli to go with the Fellowship! I swear! See HoME 6: The Return of the Shadow, p. 393.

(2) Alkarainien is the (fake) Elven word for Princess Greenleaf. Not a genuine Elven word, of course. Created with the help of the name-generator on the Barrowdowns site. As any fine Elf, our heroine would have many different  names along the story.

(3) Earlier form for Strider.

(4) Originally, the hobbit party counted more than 4. Plus, one hobbit had accompanied Gandalf, in order to mislead the Ringwrights. They can't be fully identified with their later counterparts, or so says Christopher Tolkien, although many of their lines went directly the later variations, but some character traits were different.

(5) No kidding! That was the first name for the Peredhil or Half-Elves. Apparently, there were more of them than just Elrond and his children.

(6) Later Ondor and finally Gondor. But Boromir was pretty much the same from the very beginning. And, Valar forgive me, I could not resist to play the ''evil lustling'' cliché here.

(7) This is the first time that Tolkien actually mentions the Dead Marshes.

(8) After Trotter has become a Man instead of a hobbit, the story of his captivity disappears from the scripts.

(9) It's surprising that the Council  wants information about the Black Riders from Frodo, since they know  much more about them than any hobbit could have.

(10) See above. This idea, too, was later rejected.

(11) In LOTR Elrond knows Bombadil, of course.

(12) Originally, these are Gandalf's lines, of course. But we all know the tendency of a Mary Sue to steal the best lines from canon characters and therefore become the centre of all things.


	2. Chapter 2: Stolen Moments

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** PG-13, for stomach-churning sweetness. Hey, too much sweets are not healthy! And I really went over the edge this time… meaning the sweetness, of course. Get your minds out of the gutter!

**Summary:** While our heroine is recovering, two secret lovers use the break for some much-needed cuddling. With other words: we come to the slash part of the story.

**Author's note:**

You really thought that Legolas and Gimli only became friends in Lothlórien? All of a sudden, with no earlier history? Well, think again…

To Gimli's appearance. I happen to dislike the casting choice of the movie – I simply can't buy John Rhys-Davies being a Dwarf. Sorry. So, since – according to early rumours – originally excellent character actor Jeffrey Combs was also considered for the rôle, I chose him as my Gimli. For Trekkies among us: he is the guy playing the Vorta Weyoun and the Ferengi Brunt in DS9.

This chapter has no HoME-quotes. Tolkien never wrote anything like this. Thank the Valar.

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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

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**CHAPTER 2: STOLEN MOMENTS**

When Elrond had looked after the Princess, he announced that she would be fine in a few hours but needed rest. So, instead of a short break, the Master of the House adjourned the Council til the next morrow – reluctantly, for the matter of the Ring was pressing, yet he did, for no-one wanted the lovely Engwatalmaiel(1) any harm.

Frodo was surprised by the eagerness Erestor offered to watch her recovery, since he knew form Bilbo that the seneschal of Rivendell was _not_ a healer. He was about to ask his uncle about it, when – all of a sudden – realization hit him like a brick wall: 'Twas Erestor whom the Princess was meant to wed. It _had_ to be him! Erestor was a kinsman of Elrond, after all, one of the half-elvish Children of Lúthien, just like the Master of the House. Therefore a marriage bond between him and the Princess would also mean a strong alliance between Rivendell and Mirkwood.

This saddened the hobbit greatly, for though Erestor seemed grave and noble to him, not to mention fair as all Elves were, he also seemed cold and aloof, and Frodo doubted that he would make the sweet Princess happy. Oh, how much she would deserve it! But Elves, more so the Kings among them, cared little for the happiness of their children. Certainly less than for the good of their realms, and Thranduil of Mirkwood was widely known as a stern and sometimes cruel father.(2)

Bilbo joined him, and they went for a stroll in the garden, talking about small things that hobbits like so much: about food and songs and the recent events in Hobbiton, avoiding carefully to mention Frodo's adventures on his way to Rivendell, for those memories were too dark to be pleasant. And then they heard a clear, lonely voice raising somewhere above them, singing an old chant in the Ancient Elvish tongue(3). It sounded like the ringing of silver bells on a merry feast.

Elbereth Gilthoniel  
sir evrin pennar oriel  
dir avos-eithen miriel  
bel daurion sel aurinon  
penanros evrin ériol.(4)

The sweet syllables fell like clear jewels of mingled word and sound, and they halted for a moment, looking towards the East where they seemed to come from.

''That is the opening of the chant to Elbereth'', said Bilbo. ''They will sing that and other songs of the Blessed Realm many times tonight.''

Bilbo led Frodo back to his upper room. There they sat for some while, looking at the bright stars through the window, and talking softly. They spoke no longer of the small and happy news of the Shire far away, but of the Elves, and of the wide world, and its perils, and of the burden and mystery of the Ring.

At last there came a knock on the door.

''Begging your pardon'', said Sam, putting in his head, ''but I was just wondering if you would be wanting anything.''

''And begging yours, Sam Gamgee'', replied Bilbo. ''I guess you mean that it is time your master had some rest.''

''Well, sir, the Council will set on again early tomorrow, I hear, and he only got up yestereve for the first time.''

''Quite right, Sam!'' Bilbo laughed. ''Though I never expected to live long enough to be ordered about by Ham Gamgee's boy. Bless me, I am near 150 and old enough to be your great-grandfather(5).''

''No sir, and I never expected to be doing it.''

''It is Gandalf's fault'', said Frodo. ''He chose Sam to be my companion in adventure, and Sam takes his task seriously.''

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In the meantime, in a porch higher above, adjoining the east wing of the Last Homely House, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood let his sweet voice trail off and simply sat there, gazing longingly out into the garden. His keen Elven eyes had long detected the short, stout form of a Dwarf who tried his best to make his approach casual in the eyes of a chance observer. Finally, he reached the porch where Legolas was waiting and stepped in.

He was young for a Dwarf, about mayhap 140 years, and a strong warrior of his people, therefore wiry and well-muscled – someone who was used to bear great hardness with ease. His small, round dark eyes searched the porch suspiciously, til he finally discovered the graceful form of the Elf, hiding in the shadow of a slender, tree-shaped pillar.

''Here you are'', he grunted with a satisfied grin. ''I was afraid you would be held to take care of your brat sister.''

''Sssssh!'', Legolas warned nervously. ''Let no-one hear you speak of her in this manner – the least herself. She possesses great powers and could cause you considerable harm if insulted. But worry not about her, Erestor offered to take care of her.''

''He seems to be quite smitten with her'', the Dwarf grinned, grabbing he slender hips of his Elven lover and pushing him down on his knees so that they could be at equal height. ''Some people are too blind to see where true beauty lies – luckily for me.''

With that he lifted Legolas' sculpted chin and captured the soft Elven lips in a heated kiss that could put the furnaces of the Dwarves under the Lonely Mountain to shame. The Prince opened for him at once, granting access to the moist sweetness of his mouth, and their tongues duelled briefly for dominance, but as always, Legolas submitted quickly to his sturdy Dwarf(6). The coarse, curly beard of Gimli chafed on his delicate skin excitingly, sending tiny hot jolts directly to his groin, and when the short, calloused Dwarven fingers began to play with his extremely sensitive ear-tips, he nearly fainted from the sheer pleasure of it(7).

''Oh Gimli, what havoc you wreak in my breast!(8)'' he moaned softly, when they finally had to break the kiss in order to breathe. ''How I have missed you in all those endless moons when I was unable to sneak away from my princely duties in Mirkwood! Oh, beloved, cold and empty and so very lonely my nights have been without your strong arms holding me and without the mighty weapon of your love filling my emptiness.''

''I, too, have longed for sheathing my weapon in its only true sheath, my dear, silly Elf'', Gimli murmured, his broad hands slipping under Legolas' tunic and caressing the soft skin of the Prince's chest. ''Too long it has been that I was allowed to enter your inmost garden through the back door. And I have missed that slender arrow of yours that is poking my secret quiver so excitingly every time we lie together. How long can you stay?''

''Til sunset, if you want me'', Legolas murmured, ''then I shall have to look after Bragolthangiel(9), for Erestor will need to go after his duties. How about you?''

''Father expects me to have dinner with him, but other than that I am free all day'', Gimli answered, tearing open the soft leather tunic of the Elf impatiently and tugging on the silk shirt beneath it. ''I shall have more than enough time to explore your sweet inner depths once again ere I would be missed. Let us not waste precious time!''

Legolas laughed sweetly, the sound making Gimli think of silver and precious jewels in all the colours of a soft rainbow, and slipped off both his shirt and his tunic, offering the passion-clouded eyes of the Dwarf free sight of his smooth, marble torso. His breast was heaving with passion, too, and the apple blossoms of his nipples already hardened to perky little peaks.

''I wish we were in Dale, in our secret love nest'', he said, casting a rueful look around the porch, the only piece of furniture of which was a low wooden bench; ''but even without the softness of our own bed, the sweet fire of our love will burn as brightly as ever.''

''I care not for small matters of comfort'', grunted the Dwarf, hurriedly peeling off the many layers of his clothing, including the short mail shirt he never left his home without. ''I shall take you every time and every way I can. And as uncomfortable the surroundings might be, at least no-one would find us here(10).''

''Luckily for us, all are occupied with the welfare of my sister'', Legolas sighed longingly, ''and while I wish her no harm, I do hope she will keep them worried enough for the rest of the day, so that no-one would miss us. Should we do this on the bench or on the floor, beloved?''

''I shall not suffer the indignity of falling from a bench in the sweetest moment!'' the Dwarf grumbled. ''You long people have queer ideas about making comfortable furniture.''

''Fine, fine'', laughed the Elf, spreading his cloak on the stone-paved floor, ''the ground it is. But come not to me later, whining that the stones had bruised you all over your body.''

''Dwarves are used to stone'', Gimli exclaimed proudly, ''and trust me, I shall _not_ be the one with bruises all over his body when we are done.''

Legolas grinned in anticipation, arranging his long, slender – and now completely bare – limbs on the cloak in the most appealing manner, so that Gimli became cross-eyed with desire at once.

''Well then, my dear, sturdy Dwarf, I shall take you by your word. Now come and ravish me, for I have gone without those bruises for too long a time.''

And so, while Elrond's whole household was worried sick over the welfare of the lovely Princess, her selfish brother spent long hours of pleasure in the arms of his Dwarven lover, getting ravished so thoroughly that he had great pains sitting through the rest of the Council on the next day.

TBC

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**End notes:**

(1) Yeah, this is her name in the current chapter. One of her names, anyway. Elven customs, you know? They _love_ to use different names every time it occurs to them The name was created by typing the words ''Thranduil's Daughter'' into the name-generator at barrowdowns. Oh, and they _had_ to adjourn the Council! It's a rule that the needs of a Sue come before everything else. Do not shoot me! I make not the rules!

(2) At least in all those sappy, horribly clichéd, utterly OOC Thranduil fics I had the bad luck to come across.

(3) Please don't come to me with the argument that a Wood-Elf would not sing in Quenya. I know that, all right? But I have certain rules to follow here.

(4) The words of the chant to Elbereth were different in the earlier texts from the form in FOTR.

(5) This was replaced at the time of writing by the ending in FOTR. Bilbo was in fact 128.

(6) Of course he did. He always does, no matter whom he gets paired up with. What else could we expect from a 3,000-years-old Elf warrior? snerk And if he were ''only'' 500, that would not change the whole thing a bit.

(7) Well, we could not go without the Erogenous Elven Ear, now could we? Or the nearly fainting, utterly girlish Legolas. They are obligatory ingredients of any bad slash.

(8) I must profusely apologise by the highly talented Athea from whose sweet and smutty Gimli/Legolas AU series ''Beneath it All'' I have lifted this single sentence. It is out of context and does tell nothing about her story – which is really lovely, and I like it a lot. But the sentence matched so well with the overall tone of this dialogue that I could not resist.

(9) This particular name of our heroine was created by typing in ''Legolas' sister''. Not that it matters, really. Sue names are exchangeable. So she had two different ones in this chapter.

(10) Sure. Why would anyone find them in an open porch? Bleh. Fortunately, the natural laws of bad slash would spare us the worrying about that part.


	3. Chapter 3: The Decision

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** PG, for angst and searing passion.

**Summary:** Our heroine has recovered and the Council can reset. The fate of the Ring is decided – and also that of the Princess. She meets Gimli for the first time.

**Author's note:** And we happily return to HoME 6 in this chapter. Really, you're better off with 60% Tolkien and only 10% Mary Sue.

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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

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CHAPTER 3: THE DECISION

In the next morrow everyone was happy to hear that the Princess Dúrheledwen(1) recovered enough for the Council to set on again. They gathered again after they had broken their fast and continued their discussion about the fate of the Ring. After the vision of the Princess there was no doubt any more that it had to be sent to the Fire, of course, but they still had to decide what way they should chose to accomplish this most perilous task. Curiously, the younger hobbits were not invited this time, only Bilbo and Frodo. When asked for the reason, Gandalf simply answered that there was no need for their presence at the time – which did not hinder Sam to follow them and hide in the background, of course. No way was he leaving his beloved master alone with all those strangers, with only Gandalf and Mr. Bilbo to protect him!

Frodo felt drained. All that talk about the Enemy and Mordor and the perils of the roads made him feel even more weak than he already was, due the lasting effects of his injury by the Morgul-blade, so he let his mind wander a little. After a while he detected in surprise that it was not Burin son of Balin who sat beside Glóin any more, but a young Dwarf with coarse dark hair and an artfully-braided dark beard, whose round eyes were dark and fiery like dying embers in a furnace, deep below the mountains. He wore richly adorned clothes, just like Glóin, and his temper seemed to be just as short as his body.

The hobbit shook his head, chiding himself for being so distracted, and tried to follow the discussion, which had become rather heated in the meantime. It seemed that at least some of Elrond's councillors still did not agree with their Lord's decision – which Frodo, after such a powerful vision that the Princess just had had a day earlier could not understand – and insisted to send the Ring over the Sea. How could Elves be this stubborn and unreasonable? Could they not see that Elbereth herself had been speaking through the Princess?

''The peril is greater on the western road'', said Elrond gravely, ''For my heart tells me that

is the road which Sauron will expect us to take when he hears what has befallen. And if we take it he will pursue us swiftly and surely, since we must make for the Havens beyond the Towers. Those he would certainly destroy, even if he found us not, and there would be thereafter no way of escape for the Elves from the darkening world.''

''And the Shire too would be destroyed'', said Trotter in a low voice, looking towards Bilbo and Frodo.

The younger hobbit shivered from that thought and looked around helplessly, but without much result. The eyes of the Council members were downcast, as if all them were listening to an inner voice. Only the lovely Princess sent an encouraging smile in his direction, making him swoon for a moment. _No_, he thought desperately, _I must not think of her in this manner! She is an Elven Princess, and she is already promised. And I should listen to Elrond instead._

''But on the other road'', continued Elrond'', with speed and skill the travellers might go far unmarked. I do not say there is great hope to the quest; but only in this way could any lasting good be achieved. In the Ring is hidden much of the ancient power of Sauron. Even though he does not hold it that power still lives and works for him and towards him. As long as the Ring lives on land or sea he will not be overcome. While the Ring lasts he will grow, and have hope, and the fear lest the Ring come into his hand again will ever weigh on the world. War will never cease while that fear lives, and all Men will be turned to him.''

''I do not understand this'', said Boromir. ''Why should the Elves and their friends not use the Great Ring to defeat Sauron? And I say that all Men will _not_ join him: the Men of Ond will never submit!''

''Never is a long word O Boromir'', the Princess said softly, giving the Prince of Ond a gentle, compassionate look. Elrond nodded in agreement; the wisdom of such a young Elf amazed him to no end, and he was grateful that she would soon become part of his family.

''The Men of Ond are valiant and still faithful amid a host of foes; but valour alone cannot withstand Sauron for ever'', he added. ''Many of his servants are as valiant. But as for the Ruling Ring – it belongs to Sauron and is filled with his spirit. Its might is too great for those of lesser strength, as Bilbo and Frodo have found, and in the end it must lead them captive to him if they kept it. For those who have power of their own, 'tis a danger far greater. With it they might perchance overthrow the Dark Lord, but they would set themselves in his throne. Then they would become as evil as he, or worse. For nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so. I dare not take the Ring to wield it.''

''Nor do I'', said Gandalf, shaking his head in sorrow.

''But is it not true, as I have heard said, O Elrond'', said Boromir, ''that the Elves keep yet and wield Three Rings, and yet these too came from Sauron in the ancient days? And the Dwarves, too, had rings, it is said. Tell me, Glóin, if you know it, whether any of the Seven Rings remain?''

''I do not now'', said Glóin. ''It was said in secret that Thráin (father of Thrór, father of Thorin(2) who fell in battle) possessed one that had descended from his sires. Some said it was the last. But where it is no dwarf now knows. We think maybe it was taken from him, ere Gandalf found him in the dungeons of Mordor long ago(3) – or maybe it was lost in Moria. Yet of late we have received secret messages from Mordor, offering us rings again. It was partly on this account that I came to Rivendell; for the messages asked concerning one _Bilbo,_ and commanded us to obtain from him (willing or unwilling) the ring that he possessed. For this ring we were offered three such as our fathers had of old. Even for news of where he might be found we were offered friendship for ever and great wealth(4).''

He paused and shook his head with a deep sigh. And the young Dwarf who was seated beside him took over and spoke now for the first time, and his voice was deep and powerful like the echo of great hammers deep the corridors of Dwarven mines, deep under the earth. And Frodo saw with suddenly reawakening jealousy that the fair Elven Princess gaped at that sturdy Dwarf in awe, as if some evil Dwarven spell would have been put upon her.

''Our hearts are troubled, for we perceive that King Brand in Dale is afraid'', the young Dwarf said, letting his fiery eyes sweep around the circle, ''and if we do not answer Sauron will move other Men to evil against him. Already there are threats of war upon the south.'' Spoken like a true Dwarven warrior, he gave the damascened hilt of his great battle axe, that he kept at hand even in the Council, a fond stroke. The Princess seemed completely enchanted by that sight.

''It would seem then that the Seven Rings are lost or have returned to their Lord'', said Boromir morosely. ''What of the Three?''

''The Three Rings remain still'', Elrond answered. ''They have conferred great power on the Elves, but they have never yet availed them in their strife with Sauron. For they came from Sauron himself, and can give no skill or knowledge that he did not already possess at their making(5).''

''And to each race the rings of the Lord bring such powers as each desires and is capable of wielding'', the Princess added, turning her eyes that were brighter than the stars of Elbereth, from the Dwarf to Boromir. ''The Elves desired not strength or domination or riches, but subtlety of craft and lore, and knowledge of the secrets of the world's being. These things they have gained, yet with sorrow. But they will turn to evil if Sauron regains the Ruling Ring; for then all that the Elves have devised or learned with the power of the rings will become his, as was his purpose.''

Once again, not Boromir alone but all that were present gazed at her in awe. For 'twas true that Elves could gain great wisdom when they put their minds to it, but that was usually true for the Elven-wise only, not for the rustic woodland folk, and even less so for someone who was barely five hundred years old(6). Frodo asked himself if there had been other blood in the family of Mirkwood's Elvenking but that of woodland Elves.

The only ones who seemed fully unimpressed were the Dwarves, of course, but what could one expect from such creatures who had no sense for aught else but gold and jewels. Though, and Frodo found that very confusing, Prince Legolas, too, rolled his eyes secretly, and exchanged looks with the young Dwarf that a hobbit could not quite understand. 'Twas somewhat disturbing that the fair Prince could not see the wisdom of his own sister. But that might be because they were siblings. Frodo had seen often enough in the Shire what harm sibling rivalry could do.

''What then would happen, if the Ruling Ring were destroyed?'' asked Boromir.

''The Elves would not lose what they have already won'', answered Elrond; ''but the Three Rings would lose all power thereafter.''

''Yet that loss'', the Princess whispered with downcast eyes and there was great sadness in her soft, musical voice, ''all Elves would gladly suffer, if by it the power of Sauron might be broken(7).''

''Thus we return again to the point whence we started'', said Erestor. ''The Ring should be destroyed; but we cannot destroy it, save by the perilous journey to the Fire. What strength or cunning have we found for that task?''

''In this task it is plain that great power will no avail'', said Elrond. ''It must be attempted by the weak. Such is the way of things. In this great matter fate seems already to have pointed the way for us.''

''Very well, very well, Master Elrond!'' said Bilbo suddenly. ''Say no more! It is plain at least what _you_ are pointing at. Bilbo the hobbit started this affair, and Bilbo had better finish it, or himself. I was very comfortable here, and getting on with my book. If you want to know, I am just writing an ending for it. I had thought of putting 'and he lived happily ever afterward to the end of his days'; which is a good ending, and none the worse for having been used before. Now I shall have to alter that – it does not look like being true, and anyway, there will have to be several more chapters, even if I do not write them myself. It is a frightful nuisance! When ought I to start?''

Elrond smiled and Gandalf laughed loudly, and all the others joined him, even the Princess whose laughter rang like the water of a silver fountain falling back into its basin. For a moment Frodo even forgot Bilbo's brave offer, so enraptured he was listening to that lovely song. But then he shook his head ashamed. This had to end. He was not allowed to lust after the Princess. 'Twas wrong.

''Of course'', said the wizard, ''if you had really started the affair, my dear Bilbo, you would be expected to finish it. But _starting_ is a strong word- I have often tried to suggest you that you only came in (accidentally, as you might say) in the _middle_ of a long story, that was not made up for your sake only. That is, of course, true enough of all heroes and all adventures, but never mind that now. As for you, if you want my opinion once more, I should say that your part is finished – except as a recorder. Finish your book and leave the ending! But get ready to write a sequel when they come back.''

Bilbo laughed in his turn. ''I have never known you to give pleasant advice before, Gandalf'', he said, ''or to tell me to do what I really wanted to do. Since all your unpleasant advice has usually been good, I wonder if this is not bad. Yet it is true that my years are stretched and getting thin, and I do not think I have the strength for the Ring. But tell me: who do you mean by 'they'?''

''The adventurers who are sent with the Ring.''

''Exactly, and who are they to be? That seems to me precisely what this Council has now to decide.''

There was a long silence. Frodo glanced round at all the faces, but no one looked at him – except Sam; in whose eyes there was a strange mixture of hope and fear. All the others sat as if in deep thought with their eyes closed or upon the ground. A great dread fell on Frodo, and he felt an overwhelming longing to remain at peace by Bilbo's side in Rivendell.

At last with an effort he spoke. ''I will take the Ring'', he said. ''Though I do not know the way.''

Elrond looked keenly at him. ''If I understand all the tale that I have heard'', he said, ''I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo, and that if you do not find the way, no other will.''

''But you would not send him off alone, surely, master!'' cried Sam, unable to contain himself.

''No indeed!'' said Elrond, turning towards him with a smile. ''You at least shall go with him, since it is hardly possible to separate you from him – even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.''

''Sam subsided, but whispered to Frodo: ''How far is this Mountain? A nice pickle we have landed ourselves in, Mr. Frodo!''

''When shall I start?'' asked Frodo.

'' First you shall rest and recover full strength'', answered the Princess gently, guessing his mind. ''Rivendell is a fair place, and we will not send you away, until you know it better. And meanwhile we will make plans for your guidance(8).''

TBC

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**End notes:**

(1) I am terribly sorry, but since this is the chapter where the Sue falls for Gimli, I created the name by typing in ''Pervy Dwarf Fancier'' in barrowndowns' name-generator. ducks ashamedly I simply could not resist. This fic seems to have a deteriorating effect on my morale.

(2) In ''The Hobbit'' Thráin was not the father of Thrór but his son. Tolkien made quite some changes back and forth – it would be too long to discuss them here.

(3) In the dungeons of Dol Guldur in Mirkwood in FOTR.

(4) The first draft of Elrond's council contained the line that the Dwarves still possessed some of their ancient Rings, that Dáin had one, and that Sauron was demanding them back.

(5) I am serious. In Tolkien's original concept _all_ Rings of Power were made by Sauron. Of course, all the lines given here to the Sue were those of Elrond originally. I just swapped a few of them to her, in order to remain true to the ''line-stealing'' rule, but I haven't changed a word in the dialogue, except probably the occasional ''then'' or ''and''. 'Tis all Tolkien™, people! Even the grammar!

(6) Needless to say that I personally disagree with this – but the sad fact is that many fics handle the Wood-Elves as if they all were idiots. Another cliché that I had to incorporate to remain faithful to the Way Of The Sue. As for her age, the only reason to make her 500 years old was the fact that in many horrible stories this is Legolas' age, in order to make him young, stupid and weak, so that everyone whom he normally would beat to bloody pulp with one of his arms tied to his back could take advantage of him.

(7) That would have been Glorfindel's line. sighs Poor Elf-Lord, some chick always steals something from him. If not his lines, then his horse.

(8) Obviously, these lines had been stolen from Elrond. Never mind that the Lord of the Valley would have the right – and to means – for making decisions and preparations. No Mary Sue would let herself be hindered by such nuisances.


	4. Chapter 4: Ties That Bind Not

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** R, for angst and... well, consensual, but joyless sex. (No, not truly. It just sounded too good…I would go with a PG here.)

**Summary: It is time for our heroine to fulfil the agreement between her heartless father and Elrond. With other words: the betrothal is taking place. Oh, but it is not a joyous hour for the fair maiden!**

**Author's note: According to Tolkien, when two Elves are betrothed and… erm… bodily united, that should bind their souls (_fëar) together for eternity. But we cannot follow such cruel rules when the siren song of true love calls to our heroine, now can we?_**

And to answer a question: no, I have absolutely no idea how someone could shiver ''delicately''. It's just one of those things that sounds pretty and make no sense at all. You will find many more such expressions here.

**Dedication: This one is for Mike, who made my day when I needed it most.**

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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

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**CHAPTER 4: TIES THAT BIND NOT**

Later in the afternoon of the Council Frodo was strolling in the woods with his friends. Merry and Faramond(1) were indignant when they heard that Sam crept into the second session, and been chosen as Frodo's companion.

''Not the only one!'' said Merry. ''I have come so far and I am not going to be left behind now. Someone with intelligence ought to be in the party.''

''I do not see that your inclusion will help much in that way'', said Faramond. ''But, of course, you must go, and I must too. We hobbits must stick together. We seem to have become mighty important these days. It would be a bit of an eye-opener for the people back in the Shire!''

''I doubt it!'' said Frodo. ''Hardly any of them would believe a word of it. I wish I was one of them, back in Hobbiton. Anyone who wants can have all my importance.''

''Quite accidental! Quite accidental, as I keep on telling you'', said a voice behind them. They turned to see Gandalf hurrying round a bend in the path. ''Hobbit voices carry a long way'', he said. ''All right in Rivendell (or I hope so); but I should not discuss matters so loud outside the house. Your importance is accidental, Frodo – by which I mean, someone else might have been chosen and done as well – but it is real. No one else can have it now. So be careful – you cannot be too careful!(2) As for you two, if I let you come, you will have to do just what your are told. And I shall make other arrangements for the supply of intelligence.''

''Ah, now we know who really is important'', laughed Merry. ''Gandalf is never in doubt about that, and does not let anyone else doubt it. So you are making all the arrangements already, are you?''

''Of course!'' said Gandalf. ''But if you hobbits wish to stick together I shall raise no objection. You two and Sam can go – if you are really willing. Trotter would also be useful(3) – he has journeyed South before. Boromir may well join the company, since your road leads through his own land. That will be about as large a party as will be at all safe.''

'Who is to be the brains of the party?'' asked Frodo. ''Trotter, I suppose. Boromir is only one of the Big Folk and they are not as wise as hobbits – well, Trotter surely is, but he has spent a long time watching us(4).''

''Boromir has more than strength and valour'', answered Gandalf. ''He comes of an ancient race that the people of the Shire have not seen, at least not since days that they have forgotten. And Trotter has learned many things in his wanderings that are not known in the Shire. They both know something of the road: but more than that will be needed. I wish we could ask the Princess to accompany you. That would be very helpful. But since that is not possible, I think _I shall have to come with you.''_

So great was the delight of the hobbits at this announcement that Gandalf took off his hat and bowed. ''I am used to taking care of hobbits'', he said, ''when they wait for me and do not run off on their own. But I only said: I _think I shall have to come. It may only be for part of the way. We have not made any definite plans yet. Very likely we shall not be able to make any.''_

''How soon do you think we shall start?'' asked Frodo.

''I do not know. It depends on what news we get. Scouts will have to go out and find out what they can – especially about the Black Riders.''

''I thought they were all destroyed in the flood!'' said Merry.

''You cannot destroy the Ringwraiths so easily'', said Gandalf. ''The power of their master is in them, and they stand or fall by him. They were unhorsed, and unmasked, and will be less dangerous for a while; yet it would be well to find out if we can what they are doing. In time they will get new steeds and fresh disguise. But for the present you should put all troubles out of your thoughts, if you can.''

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The hobbits did not find this easy to do. They continued to think and talk mainly of the journey and the perils ahead of them. Yet such was the virtue of the land of Elrond that in all their thoughts there came no shadow of fear. Hope and courage grew in their hearts, and strength in their bodies. In every meal, and in every word and song they found delight. The very breathing of the air became a joy no less sweet because the time of their stay was short.

The days slipped by, though autumn was fast waning, and each morning dawned bright and fair. But slowly the golden light grew silver, and the leaves fell from the trees. The winds blew cold from the Misty Mountains in the East. The Hunter's Moon grew round in the evening sky, putting to fight the lesser stars, and glittering in the falls and the pools of the River – and so the day finally came, when the betrothal of the Princess Adurathien(5) and Erestor Half-Elven was appointed to take place. The maidens that escorted her from Mirkwood to Rivendell had been very busy for days already, to prepare everything for the great event, for an alliance between the two Elvish realms was of great importance for all of them, more so considering the ages-old enmity between the Elven-king of the Wood and the Lord of the Valley, the former being the main reason for which(6).

The brave young Princess was aware of the fact that she was serving as a bridge of peace, crossing a bottomless stream of long centuries filled with hatred, so she accepted her fate with quiet dignity as it was the duty of all children of a royal House, though she loved Erestor not, and his coldness filled her gentle heart with silent dread. She could feel that the chief councillor had no love for her either, but there was lust in those cold, grey eyes when they turned to her, and a strong desire for possession, and she knew he would never let her go.

One could back off from a betrothal, as long as the wedding itself had not yet been celebrated, uniting the partners in their _hröar and __fëar, and the Princess had no doubt that Erestor would insist to complete their bond of marriage, whether she wanted it or not. She was greatly desired as a possible mate by all royal Houses(7); not for her flawless beauty and rare wisdom alone, but for as a priestress of Yavanna(8), she had powers over the soil, the waters and all living things, that only a woodland maiden of royal blood could possess. Her father had chosen Erestor, for Elrond's realm was the closest and therefore the most promising ally, and she had no other choice than to obey. One did not resist the wishes of Thranduil, the mighty Elven-king of Mirkwood. Even less so his own children._

Her maidens (_more like my jailers, she thought, for they were sent with her by her father in order to watch over her every move came to dress her in a gown of heavy, forest-green velvet and girdled it with a golden chain wrought in the shape of small, interwoven leaves. Then they combed and braided her long, ebony hair 'til it was shining with a hidden gleam and braided it in the elaborate fashion that suited a future lady of the High-Elves and adorned the interwoven braids with long, white pearl strings slung around them._

When they were done, a servant of Elrond's house came, carrying the betrothal present of the Lord of the Valley: a delicately-woven silver circlet that sparkled upon her dark braids like the moonlight upon the night sky. And so she was led to the Hall of Fire, where the ceremony was about to take place.

All the visiting dignitaries were present, even the Dwarves, and the bright eyes of the Princess became clouded with secret yearning when she caught a look at the short, sturdy form of Gimli son of Glóin, clad in a shining mail shirt and in a tunic of dark red brocade, and on a golden chain, there were several coloured gems around his strong neck. His magnificent beard, braided with gold-coloured cords, gleamed in the firelight like a shining beacon of strength and dignity.

Then her eyes found her husband-to-be and her heart froze. Erestor, standing with Legolas and talking to him in a friendly enough manner, looked kingly in his long, richly embroidered robe of royal blue(9), but the hungry looks he gave her made her feel more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life. Those were the looks of a Giant Spider before it stung its victim to make it immobile and unable to resist.

The Lord Elrond entered now, and with him came other Elf-Lords of the Valley. Since Elrond represented Erestor's family, the ceremony was led by Glorfindel, and the ancient Elf proved to every one that he was skilled in organizing great feasts. Legolas, representing their father, came to his sister's side, just as Elrond joined Erestor. The minstrels of the valley sang ancient hymns to the honour of the rare event; then the traditional words were spoken and the silver rings of betrothal exchanged.

That thin circlet of engagement felt like heavy chains on Adurathien's slender hand. Now she was given into never-ending slavery for the good of her people. She would have to keep her oath, given on this evening, even if her heart would break with pain – or her father would disown her and she would have to become an outcast among her own people.

A great feast was held after that in the Great Hall of the house, excellent food and delicious wine was served, and the guests sang and laughed and jested – some of those jests made the Princess blush and avert her eyes in silent disapproval – til it came to the final toast. Elrond raised his chalice and praised the new alliance between their two realms and wished the new couple happiness and luck. Then he broke the circle and everyone filed out in pairs or groups – or, in the case of the hobbits, remained in the feasting hall to take care of some excellent leftovers.

'''Tis time that we retire to our bedchamber, my Lady'', Erestor murmured huskily, laying a possessive arm around the softly curved hips of the Princess. ''I wish us to become as one tonight, so that no-one or naught can ever part us again.''

Adurathien suppressed a sigh. According to the custom of her people, she could not refuse her betrothed after the rings had been exchanged(10). And her father would never allow her to break her oath anyway.

''I yield to your wish, my Lord'', she replied almost soundlessly, her voice trembling as Erestor led her to the western wing of the house, where proper rooms were selected for them, not for this night only, but for the rest of their immortal lives.

And while her betrothed busied himself to break the seal of her as-yet untouched body, the Princess closed her eyes tightly, in order to suppress the bitter tears that were welling up behind her burning lids, dreaming about the mighty hammer of a certain Dwarf that, no doubt, would have done the work with much greater efficiency. She shut her heart and her mind completely away, for this was the only way to resist a soul-bond to be forged between her and Erestor(11), and reached out with her soundless inner sighs towards the one she was never to be united with.

TBC

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**End notes:**

(1) No, I am not the one who changes their names constantly. And their numbers. It has been Tolkien. Of course, I could have decided to go with the same names through the whole story, but why should I bother? They are just the best friends of the Ring-bearer, not the really important characters in this epic tale.g

(2) Is it just me, or does Gandalf really babble like a fool? I have not changed a word in this speech, I swear!

(3) This remark belongs to an earlier draft where Trotter still was a hobbit. I used it because it is so wonderfully dismissive.

(4) The second half of the sentence was added in order to avoid any misunderstandings. Trotter is _not a hobbit in this tale._

(5) ''Little Elf-Slut'', this time.

(6) See: Evil Thranduil cliché, once more. There are many more coming.

(7) Yes, yes, we know all those hidden or forgotten Elven kingdoms Middle-earth was apparently peppered with. One wonders how Sauron could ever have a chance against so many Elven realms in the Third Age.

(8) Oh, come on, you cannot tell me that you never heard of the Secret Cult of Yavanna! (Hmmm – when I think about it, I have not, either.) About the maidens of the woodland folk dancing under the full Moon and the stars, clad in their ankle-long, shining hair only! Erm… sorry, I am getting distracted from my plot here.

(9) Just because for me this is the colour that matches forest green the least.

(10) Gee, of course she could. But that would not be this tragic, right?

(11) Which is complete nonsense, of course, but oh, it sounds so wonderfully bombastic!


	5. Chapter 5: A King, Long Forgotten

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

****

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** PG, for heavy political troubles and some searing passion.

**Summary:** The Fellowship is being chosen, and we learn a little about Trotter's ancestry.

**Author's note:** You thought you know who that mysterious Ranger is? Nah, you know _nothing_! Seriously, these ideas were developed (and later rejected) by the Great Maker himself. I'm not making them up!

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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

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CHAPTER 5: A KING, LONG FORGOTTEN

A week after the betrothal ceremony Elrond summoned them to the place the Council had been held, for they still needed to discuss many things ere the companions of the Ring would have chosen. First Glóin was asked to tell some more details about the things the messengers of the Dark Lord were asking from the Dwarves, and Bilbo's old friend answered his questions in gracious lengths, making everyone fidget on their seats, including his own son, who was eager to leave and spend the rest of the day in the much more pleasurable company of his Elven lover.

''You have done well to come'', said Elrond when Glóin finally ran out of details. ''You will see that your trouble is only part of the troubles of others; and your hope will rise and fall with the fortunes of the Ring. Let us now hear the words of Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, for they are yet known to few.''

Legolas shot the Master of the House an uncomfortable look. ''I do not come'', he said, ''to add to all the accounts of gathering war and unrest, though Mirkwood is not spared, and the dark things that fled from it for a while are returning in such numbers that my people are hard put to it. But I am sent to bear tidings: they are not good, I fear; but how ill, others must judge. Smeagol that now is called Gollum has escaped.''

''What!'' cried Trotter in surprise. ''I judge that to be ill news, and you may mark my words: we shall regret this. How came the Wood-Elves to fail in their trust?''

''Not through lack of vigilance'', said Legolas, and his deep emerald eyes got a cold glint all of a sudden, ''but perhaps through overmuch kindness, and certainly through aid from elsewhither. He was guarded day and night; but hoping for his cure we had not the heart to keep him ever in dungeons beneath the ground.''

''You were less tender to me'', said Glóin with a flash of his eye, as ancient memories of his prison in the halls of the Elven-king were aroused.

''Now, now!'' said Gandalf. ''Do not interrupt!''

''That was a regrettable misunderstanding'', the Princess Andquesserien(1) whispered, and her shining eyes hung upon the broad face of the old Dwarf in an almost begging manner. Glóin mellowed at once, for who could have withstood those beautiful and innocent, pleading eyes, and bowed towards her gallantly.

Legolas swallowed uncomfortably and stole a look at his lover. Gimli gave him a barely visible shrug and a slight, encouraging nod, so the Prince went on and told the whole story of Gollum's escape, supported by small, lovely, commiserate sounds from his sister. 'Twas a rather lengthy tale, but Gimli minded not – though he was not truly interested in the tiding themselves, it gave him great pleasure to admire the perfect mouth of his lover and to wallow in pleasant daydreams about what he could do to that mouth, were they not in Elrond's council place, surrounded by people.

''We failed to recapture him'', Legolas admitted ashamedly, reaching the end of his tale. ''We came on his trail and that of some Orcs, and it seemed to plunge deep into Mirkwood going sooth or west; but ere long it escaped even our skill, nor dare we continue to hunt, for we were drawing near the Mountains of Mirkwood in the midst of the forest, and they are become evil, and we do not go that way.''

''Well, well!'' said Gandalf. ''He has got away, and we have no time or chance now to go after him again. Evidently the Enemy wants him. What for, we may discover in good time, or in bad time. I still had some hopes of curing him; but evidently he did not wish to be cured.''

''But now our tale goes far away and long ago'', said Elrond. ''In the days that followed the Elder Days after the Fall of Númenor the men of Westernesse came to the shores of the Great Lands, as is recorded still in history and in lore. Of their Kings Elendil was the chief, and his ships sailed up the great river which flows out of Wilderland and finds the Western Sea in the Bay of Ramathor(2). In the land about its lower course they established a realm; and his chief city was Osgiliath the Fort of Stars, through which the river flowed. But other strong places were set upon hills upon either side: Minas Ithil the Tower of the Rising Moon in the East, and Minas Anor the Tower of the Setting Sun in the West.''

Elrond paused and looked at Boromir, who was only listening with half an ear, for his burning eyes, once again, were upon the delicate face of the Elven princess, who looked strangely unhappy ever since her betrothal ceremony to Erestor. _Were that you had been promised to me,_ the Man thought_, I would chase away the sorrow from your fair brow, O noble Princess._ But in the depths of his troubled heart he knew all too well that such exquisite creature would never look at a rough warrior like himself.

Elrond coughed pointedly to gain Boromir's attention, then he continued. ''And these cities were governed by the sons of Elendir: Ilmandur(3) and Anárion. But the sons of Elendil did not return from the war with Sauron, and only in Minas Anor was the lordship of the West maintained. There ruled the son of Anárion and his sons after him.''

''But as the world worsened and decayed Osgiliath fell into ruin, and the servants of Sauron took Minas Ithil, and it became a place of dread, and was called Minas Morgol, the Tower of Necromancy'', the Princess added sadly(4). ''And now as we have heard of the Prince of Ond(5), that once fair and great realm is being under siege of the wild men from the East… and yet, I am certain that there still has to be some hope having been sent to his people.''

Hearing this, Boromir could only look in awe, for he had not yet spoken of the true reason of his coming, and yet it seemed as if the Princess had read his mind like an open book. And so he told about the strange dream that had sent him on this quest, the dream and that peculiar riddle that no-one was able to solve, not even his father, the King of Ond, despite his great knowledge in ancient lore.

''But of these words none of us could understand anything, until we learnt after seeking far and wide that _Imlad-rist_ was the name of a far northern dale, called by men in the North Rivendell, where Elrond the Half-Elven dwelt'', he ended his tale with a helpless shrug.

Yet the Princess Andquesserien smiled at her with a kindness that could have cleared up a cloudy day, and Boromir felt the burden of his heart being lifted for a while. ''But the rest shall now be made clear to you'', she said encouragingly.

Hearing her words(6). Trotter stood up. He drew forth his sword, and cast it upon a table before Boromir: in two pieces. ''Here is the Sword that was Broken, and I am the bearer.'

''But who are you and what have you or it to do with Minas Tirith?'' asked Boromir.

''He is Ingold son of Ingrim, descended in the right line from Ilmandur of Minas Ithil, son of Elendil'', the Princess said. ''He is _tarkil_, and one of the few now left of that people(7).''

''And the Men of Minas Tirith drove out my fathers'', said Ingold grimly. ''Is that not remembered, Boromir? The men of that town have never ceased to wage war on Sauron, but they have listened not seldom to counsels that came from him. In the days of Valandur they murmured against the Men of the West, and rose against them, and when they came back from battle with Sauron they refused them entry into the city. Then Valandur broke his sword before the city gates and went away north; and for long the heirs of Elendil dwelt at Osforod the Northburg in slowly waning glory and darkening days. But all the Northland has now long been waste; and all that are left of Elendil's folk few(8).''

Boromir could not answer at once, for 'twas true that the Men of Ond told a different story about the exile of Ilmandur's heirs, but as a royal Prince, he knew more than most people. Yet though he did descend from the younger line, Anárion's heir he felt himself not lesser a Man than Ingold was, and it angered him greatly that a mere Ranger, no matter whose blood was in his veins, dared to speak in such manner to him.

''What do the men of Minas Tirith want with me?'', Ingold asked in a low, menacing voice, for he had noticed the lustful looks the Prince of Ond gave the lovely Lady Andquesserien, and as someone who had often dwelt under Elrond's roof, he felt his duty to protect her from any harm. ''To return to aid them in the war and then reject me at the gates again?''

''They did not bid me to make any request'', said Boromir, glaring at him with open disgust, ''and asked only for the meaning of the words. Yet we are sorely pressed, and if Minas Tirith falls, and the land of Ond, a great region will fall under the Shadow.''

''Boromir is right, Ingold'', the Princess intervened gently. ''Regardless of the way his fathers have handled yours, you cannot leave the land of your ancestors fall under the Shadow. You _have_ to go to Minas Tirith and help the King of Ond to protect his land.''

She looked deeply into his eyes, as if they were exchanging thoughts instead of mere looks, and truly, it seemed as if she had bespoken him mind-to-mind, for Trotter at once seemed to calm down, and he bowed slightly towards her in the fashion a knight would bow to the wishes of his lady.

''I will go'', he said(9). ''For the half-high(10) have indeed set forth, and the spoken days are near.''

At that, Boromir looked at Frodo and nodded with sudden understanding.

TBC

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**End notes:**

(1) Her name is ''Slutty She-Elf'', this time. And her line, of course, belonged originally to Gandalf.

(2) Belfalas in LOTR.

(3) Later: Isildur.

(4) Sure she would – I mean, jump into Elrond's words and steal his lines. Minas Morgol is, of course, Minas Morgul.

(5) No mistake. At one point, Boromir was considered to be the son of the King of Ond.

(6) Ummm… these were Trotter's words, actually. Oh, never mind. They _could_ have been hers, after all.

(7) Ingold son of Ingrim was one of the many names Aragorn has worn during the early phases of the script (among others like Elfhelm, Elfstone and many more). _Tarkil_  was the early expression for Dúnadan – Tolkien variedly used it for both Aragorn and Boromir or for Aragorn only. Oh, and these lines originally were spoken by Elrond, of course.

(8) This early take on Aragorn's ancestry has the existence of Arnor as an equally strong North-kingdom out of consideration. Osforod is, of course, Fornost.

(9) Of course he did! After all, the Sue has spoken!

(10) The half-high are the halflings, of course. Called so by Tolkien in early drafts.


	6. Chapter 6: Rosie Who?

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** PG-13, for excessive OOC-ness from the side of the canon characters (especially Elrond), double betrayal and attempted murder.

**Summary:** Samwise takes a walk in Elrond's garden – and gets more than he has bargained for. Coincidentally, someone forges a dark and evil plan to hurt our heroine.

**Author's note:** I needed something different or else the fic could have become too monotonous. So I pondered over my cliché chances and decided for gratuitous hobbitslash – well, sort of. And who else would be better for that than Sam, whose… erm… fondness for Elves is a canon fact? The chapter turned out darker than I had planned, but that is the best I can do right now.

The quotes are from LOTR, this time. I found nothing suitable in the HoME-books.

Also, this will be the last update for quite some time. My muse had abandoned me because of some current abuse, and my mind has turned to very dark places, which does not help when I try to write funny stuff. 

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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

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**CHAPTER 6: ROSIE – WHO?(**1)

They continued debating for quite some time, 'til Elrond called an end to the discussion, declaring that Frodo obviously was not feeling well and needed some rest. Indeed, the hobbit sat there with gazed-over eyes and a slightly open mouth, drinking in the pale-shining beauty of the Princess Girithlhawien(2), all but a step away from actually drooling. But since every one – well, _almost_ every one – shared his enchantment, the others became truly worried that his Nazgúl wound might ailed him again, not realizing that he was simply lovestruck.

So he was brought to his bedchamber by Gandalf, tucked into bed, and fussed over for a considerable time by Elrond, Ingold and Sam, but only seemed to recover when the Princess joined them and offered to watch over him till he would fall asleep. And indeed, hardly was she seated on the edge of his bed and took his small hand in her cool, slender one, the huge blue eyes of a hobbit fell shut and he sank into a peaceful sleep. The Princess then began to sing an old song of enchantment, known only to the priestesses of Yavanna: a song about the rebirth of the forest in springtime, and her voice was like that of a nightingale and like the running water over white stones in the sunshine.

The others left quietly, amazed by her healing powers and the beauty of her song, and their hearts rejuvenated like the lives of trees in the stirring season. Sam Gamgee, being satisfied that his beloved master was safe with the most powerful Elven sorceress since the days of Lúthien, slipped out to take a stroll in the gardens and see more of the house. For it was, just as old Mr. Bilbo had long ago reported, ''a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep or storytelling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best or a pleasant mixture of them all.'' Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear or sadness.

Well, most of it, anyway. For not even Elrond's house could cure Sam's heart from the dread that had been filling his whole being, ever since he caught himself lusting after his master. He had spent days at Frodo's bedside, watching his beautiful master struggling with that evil wound and trembling in fear for Frodo's life.

As the days went by, however, he began to think less and less of his master's injury and more and more of his sprite-like, almost Elvish beauty. The creamy skin, stretched too tightly over the fragile bones for a hobbit to look healthy, made his fingers itch to caress it. That rosebud mouth almost begged to be kissed to become pink once again, instead of being so horribly pale. The small, brown nipple, peeking out of the oversized nightshirt made his head swoon and his breeches so uncomfortably tight he could barely sit. But his true undoing were Frodo's feet, with the soft brown curls covering them; so soft and silky that Sam began to shiver from the mere thought of them. No-one in the whole Shire had feet like his master(3).

But oh, all that wonder was for the Princess now to admire. Mr. Frodo had chosen _her_ to stay in his chambers, not his faithful Sam. And thought Sam was grateful beyond measure for the Princess' healing powers that eased the pain of his beloved master, he couldn't fully suppress the odd hint of painful jealousy. He could not blame Frodo for falling for the Princess – she was, after all, wise, powerful and fair beyond belief –, but he could not help feeling envious, either.

Sam shook his head, trying to fight the bitter tears of disappointment and kept walking. At least he hoped to keep his mind occupied this way. Elrond's house was a big one and very peculiar. There was always something new to discover. And, of course, it was full of Elves, which made it the more wondrous for Sam, who had fancied the Fair Folk from his early childhood on, even though he had not seen a single one of them before he came to Rivendell. The tales about them had been enough for him.

But now he could make up for all those years of yearning, for certainly, he had his fill of Elves here. Some of them were like kings – the Lord Elrond and his kinsmen even more than the others –, terrible and splendid; and some as merry as children. And the music and the singing – at times Sam asked himself whether the Elves could feed on song alone. He had never seen the Princess eating, for starters, and Prince Legolas seemed to avoid the big feasts most of the time, too(4).

Sam walked along several passages and down many steps and out into a high garden above the steep bank of the river, 'til he reached a porch on the side of the house looking east. Shadows had fallen in the valley below, but there was still a light on the faces of the mountains far above. The air was warm. The sound of running and falling water was loud, and the evening was filled with a faint scent of trees and flowers, as if summer still lingered in Elrond's gardens.

However, the sounds of running and falling water were not the only ones that reached his ears. There was an argument going on in the porch, with hushed voices but heated anger. He sneaked a little closer, for this was the first time ever that he heard Elves fight among each other, and he wanted to know what they could possibly fight over.

''You cannot do this to me, my Lord'', a soft, lyrical voice complained. ''Have I not served you well for three thousand years? Have you not repeated to me again and again that you seek no other pleasure than the one I give you? And when you wanted an heir, have I not gone trough all the perils of Fangon forest to achieve that secret draught from the Giant Treebeard that made me able to carry your child?(5) You need not the Princess Girithlhawien in order to produce an heir any more. And yet now, that am with child, you would toss me out of your bed and wed her!''

''You are being unreasonable again, Melpomanen(6)'', a harsh, impatient voice answered; Sam recognized it as Erestor's, which shocked him even more than the mere thought of a male Elf becoming pregnant. ''It matters not how long you have been my consort and how much pleasure your body can give me. I never asked you to mess around with earth magic to have a child with me. How could that possibly be useful for Rivendell? You are but a love slave in this house, given to me by Elrond to keep my bed warm(7). She is the Princess of the closest of strongest Elven kingdom. Wedding her would mean that we shall have a strong ally in Mirkwood, and we need that.''

''But she will never give you what I can'', the other Elf answered in a broken voice. ''I only live for you; she does not.''

''Nay'', Erestor agreed, ''and I shall not throw you out of my chambers, foolish Elf. You are mine, and I intend to keep you. Come here!''

There were light footsteps and the unmistakable sound of two people exploring the wet caverns of each other's mouth. Then one of them left, according to his rapidly fading footfall, while the other remained in the porch in silence. After a few moments, though, Sam heard soft moans coming from that direction, and he sneaked even closer, believing that the Elf might be indulged in draining his own fountain of immortal life in order to find some much-needed comfort, and that would have been a sight the hobbit wanted not to miss(8).

But he was wrong, apparently. The fragile, dark-haired Elf was sitting on the ground, not an inch of his luscious flesh in sight, his long legs pulled up against his narrow chest. He hugged his knees close, rocking back and forth, giving those soft, low sounds of not lust but despair, while crystal tears were flowing down unstoppably his thin face.

Founding the right company for his own misery, Sam sat down next to the Elf and rubbed the narrow back sympathetically. He had little hope that the Elf would take comfort from him, he was so small and insignificant and… and hairy, but to his surprise, the dark-haired beauty made no attempts to shook off his hands. Soon, the soothing motions became caresses, as his clever little hands wandered down the back of the Elf, towards more intimate parts of that slender body, mapping the paths that led to the aforementioned fountain of immortal life. It took not long for the heartbroken Elf to submit to the eager ministrations of the love-hungry hobbit(9) and his dagger got sufficiently polished ere it was tucked away again for possible later use.

''You have my gratitude for your gracious service, Master Half-high'', the Elf said, feeling clearly better now. ''I admit, I never guessed that the little folk would carry such impressive weapons.''

''I am a gardener'', Sam replied, blushing slightly. ''We are taught to take good care of our tools. I hope your soil would not need any immediate digging up for a while.''

''Nay; you have taken care of it rather sufficiently'', the Elf yawned and shifted positions gingerly. ''Now I only have to collect some leaves for the evening tea of the Princess; then I can take some much-needed rest.''

''I think I would best seek out my bed myself'', said Sam. ''I have not done so much… digging since I was a tween-aged lad, back in the Shire. Unless you need some help with those herbs. I know my way around them, if you catch my meaning, Master Elf.''

''No need for that'', the Elf replied almost too quickly. ''I know where I can find what I need. Have a restful night!''

With that, he quickly wandered off towards some evergreen bushes nearby. Sam looked after him a little bewildered, for he could see naught over there that would fit as tea in his opinion, but then he just shrugged and walked back to Frodo's chambers. Mayhap Elves drank different sorts of tea than hobbits did.

He had forgotten this little detail and never thought of it again, til the evening meal was brought to Frodo's chambers. The Princess was still there, pouring her healing powers into the still weakened body of the hobbit by laying a cool hand upon Frodo's forehead and looking into the misty blue eyes of the hobbit who seemed to have entered a higher state of ecstasy by her mere touch. Sam swallowed his tears in silence.

Gandalf and Elrond had come a little earlier to see how Frodo was faring, and the Master of the House warned the Princess not to drain her own life force too much, for it could have become dangerous. But she only smiled at him with that sweet and heartwrenchingly sad smile of hers and said:

''Worry not, my Lord, for we of the Cult of Yavanna have learnt how to restore our strength through the use of selected herbs and meditation; and we can call forth greater strength than common healers.'' To that Elrond could not say anything. He might have been the greatest healer west from the Misty Mountains, but his healing powers were naught compared to those of a priestess of Yavanna.

''Your tea, Princess'', Melpomaen, for he was the one who had brought the meal, murmured, and handed her a cup filled with some green draught. Sam sniffed discretely.  The scent seemed vaguely familiar for him, but he could not put his finger on it. Still, it most definitely seemed not to be a common sort of tea, and the ill-concealed madness burning in the dark eyes of the Elf was not soothing his concerns, either.

Then, just as the Princess took a few delicate sips from the hot liquid, he suddenly knew what it was.

''Nay, do not drink it, sweet Princess!'' he screamed in utter shock. '''Tis wolfcherry-leaf, it would kill you in two days!(10)''

Elrond snatched the cup from the Princess and sniffed its contents. Then his noble face darkened in righteous anger.

''You'', he said menacingly and hit Melpomaen in the face so that the young Elf staggered and fell on his knees(11); ''tried to poison the Princess in my own house? To murder the future wife of my kinsman? The mother of his children-to-come?''

''_I am_ the one who is carrying his child!'' Melpomaen cried, not even trying to defend himself against the blow of the Master of the House. '''Tis I he should be marrying!''

''You are… what?'' Elrond could not believe his ears. But Gandalf grabbed his hand ere he could hit the young Elf once more.

''Wait, Elrond. I do believe I have heard of the strange draught of the Tree Giants in Fangorn Forest. They have many magic powers. One of them is to make males able to carry children, for the Tree Giants have no females(12).''

''Does this mean that you got hold of this draught and are now with Erestor's child?'' Elrond asked, disgusted. Melpomaen nodded, and the Master of the House shook his head. ''Well, then we shall have to see how we can terminate this… this abomination, ere we get rid of you entirely. Whether you shall live or die, that will be Erestor's decision.''

''Nay, my Lord'', the Princess said with quiet dignity, ''by law, 'tis mine. And I wish him not to be harmed. You see, when a she-Elf is consecrated for the Cult of Yavanna, we go through a secret ritual that binds us with all living things she has created. We become part of all her work. Therefore, no poison, may it come from a plant of from a beast, can do us any harm.''

She looked around the astonished faces, then reached out for Melpomaen and helped him to his feet.

''I blame you not for what you have done'', she said, ''For you did it out of love and despair, and I feel pity for your loss. Also, the child you are carrying has been conceived out of love, and 'tis the flesh and blood of my future husband. Therefore, I shall not allow it to be harmed, either. Rather, I shall take it as if it were my own and raise it as it suits one of the Children of Lúthien.''

''Princess, you are too easily forgiving this worthless slave'', Elrond said, shooting Melpomaen a murderous glare, ''but be it as you wish. He shall not be harmed. But as soon as the child is born, he will be cast out from Rivendell and sold to an other realm.''

TBC

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**End notes:**

(1) The tile is a little misleading. There won't be any mentioning of Rosie Cotton. It is referring to the fact how a lot of stories conveniently neglect her whole existence, in order to make a Frodo/Sam relationship plausible.

(2) This time the name means Evil Husband-Stealer. The reason will be revealed later in this chapter.

(3) Obviously, I go with the movie-version of Frodo here – who would be lusting after a 51-year-old, slightly fat hobbit? Also, it seemed logical to me to give a hobbit a foot fetish.g

(4) The reason of which Sam could not guess at that time, of course.

(5) The Giant Treebeard used to be a malevolent entity at this stage of story development, who even captured Gandalf, ere Saruman entered the picture. Also, I apologize for the misuse of the ent-draught. I know, as a rule male Elves should become pregnant for no apparent reason, but that stretches the credibility a little too much for my taste. So I used the good old magic fertility potion instead.

(6) Melpomaen is the Elven name of the movie extra called Figwit by his fans. I didn't want to use Lindir, in order to avoid ruining the effects of ''Innocence''. I apologize by all Figwit-fans for using him, but he can suffer so prettily...

(7) Because slavery is a common thing among Elves, more so in Rivendell, did you not know? Well, me neither. But I have read a little, and now I am taught better.

(8) For all hobbits are shameless voyeurs, especially when it comes to Elves, of course.

(9) Why, certainly! Sex with a stranger is the best medicine for heartbroken Elves that get dumped after three thousand years.

(10) Ask me not what the heck the stupid plant is. I have no idea. Does it matter, considering that I just had an Elf try to poison another one?

(11) Sure. This is how Elrond handles problems, is it not?

(12) And thusly we have found an elegant solution for the problem of the absence of the Entwives.


	7. Chapter 7: The Ugly Truth

THE JOYS OF A BEARD 

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.**

**Rating: PG-13, for incestuous relationships and severe nastiness.**

**Summary: 'Tis time to decide Melpomaen's fate. What dark secrets are being revealed?**

**Author's note: It seems that my muse is more resistant than I would have thought. I was afraid for a few weeks that she had left me for good, but here she is, nastier than ever. So, in order to celebrate her return, we are treated with a chapter extraordinaire, featuring the Evil Thranduil™ in his drunken, abusive nastiness.**

(Ummm… I hope 'tis needless to say that I am actually the chairwoman of the Sisterhood of Thranduil-defenders? This chapter was written in a righteous outrage over all those stories where he behaves… well, just like in this chapter. Just to be sure we understand each other.)

The (very few) original lines are from ''The Treason of Isengard'' (HoME 7) this time.

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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

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CHAPTER 7: THE UGLY TRUTH 

The hobbits had been some three weeks in the House of Elrond after the Council, and November was passing, when the scouts began to return. Those who went north had gone beyond the Hoarwell into the Entish lands(1), and those who went west had reached the lands far down the Greyfood, as far as Tharbad where the old North Road crossed the river by the ruined town(2). Those who climbed the pass at the sources of the Palath(3) had reached the old home of Radagast at Rhosgobel that is also called Brownhay(4) in the Mannish tongue. These last had returned up the Ruinnel(5) and over the high pass that was called Dimrill Stair(6).

During all this coming and going the Lord Elrond was hard-pressed to find a little time to speak with the Princess Asachamien(7) in private. Yet he was determined to do so, for he wanted to know why she had come to Melpomaen's aid after that worthless slave had tried to poison her. So he asked her to join him and Erestor in his vast library, and she came gladly, for there were kept old tomes written in the ancient Elvish tongue that not even Elrond himself could read, for the letters were known to the anointed priestesses of Yavanna only, and had been forgotten every where but in Mirkwood and Lórinand(8).

Erestor was most upset about how things had turned out. He was not used to lose something he considered his, and it seemed now that he would lose his long-time consort whose services he had always found most satisfying. And though he had been the one who suggested Elrond to accept Thranduil's offer to wed his only daughter to one of the Children of Lúthien and therefore intended not to let the sweet and powerful Princess slip through his hands, he most seriously intended to keep Melpomaen near his bedchamber. Now that the foolish slave had tried to poison his betrothed, he knew not what he could do to save him.

''I thank you, my Lady, that you could come in such a short instance'', Elrond turned to the Princess. '''Tis high time that we decide the final fate of the one that had a murderous attempt on your life. I promised you that he shall not be harmed 'til the child is born, for you wanted that… _thing to be spared, for reasons I cannot understand(9), but ere we make any decision, I would like to know why you are so forgiving and so protective towards someone who intended to take your life?'' _

The Princess sat with downcast eyes for quite some time, her beautiful face deeply flushed in some secret shame. Finally, she raised her shining eyes and the two Half-Elves could see the tears in those dark orbs.

''I see that I have no choice but to reveal a shameful secret of my own family in order to make you understand, my Lords'', she whispered barely audible. ''You have a right to know why I have and always will protect that unlucky slave of yours. Hear then and, I beg of you, keep to yourselves this knowledge: Melpomaen is my brother.''

Elrond and Erestor gazed at her with open mouth. She sighed, dried her eyes with a delicately laced handkerchief and continued.

''Aye, he is my brother, but he was not born in the right bed, as people say. I am certain that you all know what kind of a person our father is like. In all Elven Kingdoms there are rumours about the debauchery life he leads… and about the rakish feasts that are held in the deep halls of Mirkwood Castle(10).''

The Elf-Lords nodded again, and she collected her strength before she could go on with her horrible story.

''Well, they are all true. Father knows no restraints when he is drunk, and it used to be even worse when he was younger. And thus it happened after Legolas' birth, while our mother was lying weakened in her chambers and the court celebrated the coming of a new Prince, that Father caught a young maiden of his court unaware and made her submit to his ardour (11).''

Both Elrond and Erestor listened in shock. Sure, they had had their merry dalliances all their lives, but never would have sunk so deeply to force anyone to serve their pleasure. The Princess shook her head sadly and went forth.

''Of course, Father never acknowledged Melpomaen as his son, even though he bears the birthmark we all bear. The boy was raised as a slave and sold as soon as he reached maturity, for Father could not bear to see him in his court.''

''I remember when Glorfindel came home with him'', Elrond said. ''He was such a miserable little creature, I never understood what Glorfindel saw in him.''

''I do believe the Lord Glorfindel bought him out of compassion'', the Princess answered. ''We did not know that he remained under your roof, my Lord. Every one had forgotten him, 'til I met him again in your house.''

''What has become of his mother?'' Erestor asked, for his little slave never spoke of earlier times, no matter what punishment his stubbornness earned him.

''She has been sold, too'', the Princess answered. ''She was tossed into slavery for polluting royal blood and sent to the South Haven.'' She gave Elrond a begging look. ''Do not send Melpomaen away, my Lord, I pray you. He was desperate about losing the only one who cared for him – I blame him not for that.''

''But _I do'', Elrond answered, admiring the selfless goodness of the Lady Asachamien (not to mention the lovely wringing of her delicate hands) greatly. ''Yet for your sake, my Lady, I shall withhold my sentence 'til the Fellowship of the Ring is chosen and sent on their way.''_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the other wing of the house, on the east porch that had become Legolas and Gimli's preferred love nest during the recent weeks, the two lovers were having a similar conversation.

''You cannot imagine what life in Mirkwood Castle is like, Gimli'', Legolas said gravely, resting his head in the Dwarf's lap (where he had the additional pleasure to survey the mighty hammer that gave him so much pleasure when pounding his anvil), while Gimli was playing with his ear absently, sending shivers through the slender Elven body. ''The only one of his children who truly count for Father is his heir, our eldest brother, Prince Luincirion(12). He is so much like Father, and he grants him every wish. So, when Melpomaen was still way under-aged, he was given to Luincirion as his consort… and he handled the boy badly. Poor little worm was half-starved and full of beat marks when the Lord Glorfindel visited our palace and bought him from Father for a jewelled ring(13).''

''What did your brother say to that?'' Gimli asked, suspecting something equally evil coming. Legolas shrugged, his fine face darkened.

''He demanded from Father to have _me as his consort, instead of his lost slave. And Father agreed. He could never deny Luincirion any wish. So I fled that night and ran without a break to Dale. There I was hiding, as a guest of the King and as the captain of his archers, until the Dragon came. I barely escaped from that battle and decided to return to Mirkwood. I had long come of age by then, so that I could not be given away against my will. Of course, Luincirion and I never had a very… brotherly relationship'', he added._

''What about your sister?'' Gilmi asked. ''Was she never molested by your brother?''

''Nay'', Legolas shook his head. ''Luincirion has never wanted women(14). And besides, the priestesses of Yavanna have strange powers, not even our reckless brother would risk to challenge them. They could do horrible things to you, by sheer willpower. So, be careful around my sister. She is used to get every thing she wants.''

''What do you mean?'' Gimli frowned, for the voice of his lover was deadly serious. Legolas sighed.

''I have seen the looks she casts upon you every time she thought she would be unwatched. She desires you, dear heart, as much as I do, and she will not rest 'til she gets what she desires.''

''Well, this time she will have to face disappointment'', the Dwarf grumbled, fondling lovingly the slender arrow that was hidden in Legolas' secret quiver, begging for attention. ''Dwarves would not change their hearts once they have found the one who would rule it for eternity. You are mine, my beloved Elf, and I am yours, and no-one can change that. I shall not play locksmith to any other doors than yours(15), and that is final.''

''And there is naught that I would wish more than that you shall practice your skills as a locksmith again, soon'', Legolas answered with a sweet smile, and grabbing that gorgeous beard, he pulled the Dwarf down for a soul-stealing kiss. ''I only ask you to be careful. Should my sister find out that 'tis _my inmost doors you are pounding on instead of hers, she could do nasty things to both of us.''_

''Worry not'', Gimli replied, after having sampled long and deeply the sweet nectar that was Legolas' mouth; ''I shall let no harm come near you. Come now love, let us oil that door of yours a little, so that it would open silently for me and no-one would detect my secret visit in your inner chambers. As you just said, we must be careful.''

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A few days later, when all scouts had returned, the Lord Elrond sought out the Princess Asachamien once again. This time they met on an other porch, high up on the west wing of the Last Homely House, where no-one could watch them.

''I have come to a decision, concerning the twisted state of things between our respective families'', he said. ''I know not whether you shall like it, my Lady, but I do believe this would be the best for us all.''

She seemed to tremble a little at that, looking so young, lovely and vulnerable that Elrond nearly melted away on the spot. But he was not an ancient Elf-Lord for naught and so he managed to gather his considerable willpower, making him able to continue.

''I do believe, my Lady, that your betrothal to my kinsman, Erestor, has been a mistake'', he said. ''Even though he has agreed and went through the ceremony with you, I fear that his desire is still turned to that… I mean to your unfortunate brother. And even though he is naught but a love slave, I cannot deny that the child he is carrying is Erestor's flesh and blood. Also, I considered your pleas in his behalf and decided to keep him in the house.''

''Thank you, my Lord'', she whispered, relieved that there would be someone to keep Erestor from her bed most of the time. That way she would be able to endure his advances when it was inevitable. But Elrond was not finished yet.

''And so I have decided to declare your betrothal as annulled'', he continued. ''For I can see in your eyes that though you have shared your bodies, a soul-bond has not been formed between the two of you(16).''

'''Tis true, my Lord'', she whispered. ''I have felt from the first moment that he loved me not, so I resisted the bond to come in existence. We of the Cult of Yavanna can do such thing.''

''I believe this is for the best'', Elrond nodded, ''for I have found an other husband for you in this house. You shall be wedded to me, in one year's time.''

''To you, my Lord?'' she repeated, her heart nearly stopping from fear. ''But are you not already spoused?(17)''

''I used to be'', answered Elrond with a shrug, ''but my wife left for the Blessed Realm and gave me back her ring of betrothal, so that our marriage is unmade for good.''

The Lady Asachamien thought about the offer for a short time. Being the Queen of Rivendell had doubtlessly its advantages – she would be able to control the fate of those who came within the boundaries of Elrond's realm through his Ring and strengthen her own powers. Of course, she would have to be very careful while pursuing her other… goals, but the position Elrond had just offered would be more of a help than a hindrance…

''I feel deeply honoured, my Lord'', she replied with a bow, ''and I would be happy to accept. But I fear that Erestor shall not take this change kindly. How do you intend to keep him from doing anything foolish?''

''Trust me'', said Elrond with a lewd grin, pulling her close, ''I have a wonderful plan that should solve all the most pressing issues. I shall tell it every one tomorrow.''

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) Ask me not where _that might be. The geography of LOTR has undergone many changes, most of them impossible to follow. I just quoted all those elder names as they came in HoME._

(2) This was the very first appearance of Tharbad in the early scripts, following the fourth variation of Elrond's council.

(3) Iris. Called later the River Gladden.

(4) Also, the first appearance of Rhosgobel. The translated name ''Brownhay'' is never mentioned again. A pity. It sounds so good.

(5) Redway. The river called Celebrant in LOTR.

(6) Which at the end became, after many a transformation, the Redhorn Pass.

(7) Lying Elf-Slut, this time. You will see the reason for that name.

(8) Alternate name for Lothlórien. Not really an early one, but one I personally find very stupid-sounding, so it will fit perfectly.

(9) How could he? 'Tis common Elven practice to murder unborn babies, is it not?

(10) At least when the people in all those other Elven Kingdoms (there are dozens, no, hundreds of them in the Third Age, remember?) are regularly reading fanfiction. For I, personally, have read 18 volumes of Tolkien's writings and never found anything that would indicate these things. Mayhap in his very secret private diary that hasn't been published yet?

(11) Of course, an Elven woman would flee her body when raped, according to Tolkien, but that never concerned anyone. Nor the fact that Elves need a conscious act of will to conceive a child.

(12) Means Pompous Ass.shrugs Hey, he is the Evil Older Brother™ who cannot be left out from such a story! The heir of Thranduil has to be evil by design, just as his sire is.

(13) Because, as we all know, Thranduil would sell his soul for a piece of jewellery, not only a bastard son, right?

(14) Of course not. Most Elven males are not. 'Tis a wonder the whole species has not died out Ages ago.

(15) A similar expression was used in Pythoness' story. I altered it a little but couldn't resist quoting it, even if in a different fashion. So, the credit of this wonderful metaphor goes to her.

(16) Well, yes, Tolkien actually _does say that Elves can read from the eyes of other Elves whether they are soul-bound or not._

(17) Of course. It's that simple with Elves who marry only once and bond themselves for eternity. Who needs a stinking wife? After all, Celebrían was but a footnote in LOTR, right? Let us get rid of her so that Elrond can roll in the hay with any one who comes by.


	8. Chapter 8: The Tenth Walker

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** PG, for extreme sappiness and evil plots in the background.

**Summary:** The Fellowship is about to set off. Guess who is going with them? Let me give you a hint: 'tis _not_ Melpomaen.

**Author's notes:** Now we have finally reached the time when the Fellowship leaves Rivendell. In this and possibly also in the next chapter, I shall be using quotes from ''The Return of the Shadow'', as I am trying to use the oldest possible material for this particular fic.

There will be some more stuff about the royal family of Mirkwood. After all, we have to show that every one _but_ Legolas is evil in that bunch.

BTW, in case you have not realized, now we have a Marty Sam in the story, too. At least I think that is what a _male_ Sue is called, right?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**CHAPTER 8: THE TENTH WALKER**

On the next day, the some more of the scouts returned: the ones who had passed the mountains both by the High Pass and Annerduin(1), and by the passage at the sources of the Palathin(2). These were the last to return, for they had descended into Wilderland as far as the Palath-ledin(3), and that was a great way from Rivendell, even for the swiftest Elves. But neither they nor those who had received the aid of the Eagles near Goblin Gate had discovered any news – except that the wild wolves called wargs were gathering again and were hunting once more between the Mountains and Mirkwood. No sign of the Black Riders had been found – except on the rocks below the Ford the bodies of several drowned horses, and a long black cloak slashed and tattered.

''One can never know'', answered Gandalf to the eager questions of the hobbits, ''but it does look as if the Riders were dispersed – and have had to make their way as best they could back to Mordor. In that case there will still be a long while before the hunt begins again. We had better make our way to Elrond's chamber at once; for we need to get off as soon as possible now, and he is ready to name the companions of the Ring in this very morning.''

With that, he led the four hobbits to the western wing of the House, where he knocked at a big door and entered, without waiting for an answer, a small room, the western side of which opened onto a porch beyond which the ground fell sheer to the foaming river.

All the others were already there: the Elves of Mirkwood, the Dwarves and Elrond's kinsmen, waiting only for the Ring-bearer and his friends to arrive. Trotter and Boromir sat at the opposite ends of the porch, exchanging hostile looks (when they were not gazing at the Princess in complete enchantment), and Bilbo seemed to slumber at Elrond's side.

They were seated, and Elrond had finally come to announce his decision about the Fellowship of the Ring. He rose from his seat with great dignity, cleared his throat and said in his clear voice:

''Strangers from distant lands, friends of old(4). Now we have come to our hard decision: who shall accompany the Ring on its way to the Fire. Frodo has already offered himself unbidden to carry this burden, and it seems to me that 'tis a task appointed to him from the very beginning. His kinsmen of the Little Folk have voiced their heartfelt wishes to accompany him, and I shall not hold them back. But since Gandalf keeps telling that he is used to take care of hobbits, he shall go with them, too.''

''What about Trotter?'' Frodo asked in a small, quivering voice, his rosebud lips trembling with fear. ''Cannot Trotter come with us as well?''

''Oh, but he will'', Elrond answered with a smile, ''at least for a while. For his way leads, ultimately, to Minas Tirith, in order to free the city of his sires from the siege of the wild Men of the East; this shall be the battle where the ownership of Gondor's throne shall finally be decided. Therefore, Boromir shall be part of the Fellowship as well.''

''Yet 'tis the quest of all free peoples, my Lord'', the Princess Ianorewen(5) added in her sweet, lyrical voice. ''Thus it shall be necessary that Elves and Dwarves go with the Fellowship, too.''

''I offer my bow and my scouting crafts'', Legolas promptly replied. ''No-one knows the forest as well as I who have spent hundreds of years as a border guard in the service of Mirkwood's King and people.''

''Legolas is right'', Gandalf nodded, ere Elrond could have answered a thing. ''We need a good woodsman and archer in our midst, and he is used to work with Men. Even with Dwarves.''

''As for a Dwarf'', Legolas added sweetly, ''I am certain that Gimli son of Glóin shall be willing to come with us at least as far as Moria, where his kinsfolk has settled again'', and he gave the Dwarf an innocent smile.

''Why, certainly, I gladly offer my axe to the Ring-bearer's protection'', Gimli grumbled, seeing at once where his secret lover was going, and watching with growing unrest the dark shadow clouding the beautiful face of the Princess. _Blast, but Legolas must have been right,_ he thought uncomfortably.

''Brute strength alone shall not be enough to protect the Ring or its Bearer, my good Dwarf'', the Lady Ianorewen said in that honeyed voice of hers that enthralled every one who listened to it, be it male or female, Elf, Man or hobbit; fortunately, Gimli already kept an other sweet voice in his heart, thus he remained untouched by her spell. ''You might meet with foes that cannot be warned off by weapons of war.''

Elrond agreed, and warned them to journey by dusk and dark as often as might be, and to lie hid when they could in the broad daylight.

''When the news reaches Sauron'', he said, ''of the discomfiture of the Nine Riders, he will be filed with great anger. When the hunt begins again, it will be far greater and more ravenous.''

''Are there still more black Riders then?'' asked Frodo, casting the Princess an amiable gaze, begging for reassurance.

''Nay'', she said, smiling at him, so that the hobbit almost swooned off his seat, while Sam was valiantly fighting off the ever-rising waves of bitter jealousy. ''There are but Nine Ringwraiths(6). But when they come forth again, I fear they will be greatly strengthened by the black magic of their Dark Lord, who is not called the Necromancer for naught among our people. Thus you shall need the protection of earth magic that only the Anointed Ones of Yavanna can provide. Therefore, I shall go with you as well.''

''What?'' exclaimed Erestor and Legolas at the same time, but Elrond raised his hand, and lo! the blue crystal of the Ring of Power gleamed upon his finger(7).

''Be silent, cousin!'' he said to Erestor. ''The Lady Ianorewen and I have discussed this matter at length, and I, too, feel that her mystic powers will be needed on this quest. What is more, now that 'tis obvious that the two of you have failed to form a soul-bond, I hereby declare your betrothal as a failure. When this quest is over, it shall be annulled and the Princess shall wed an other one from our family.''

''And who, pray you, shall that be?'' Erestor hissed, clearly furious. He was not used to giving up aught – or any one – he considered his.

''That'', Elrond replied calmly, ''shall be revealed at the proper time. Right now, the Fellowship should prepare for their quest. The Ten Walkers shall go against the Dark One and his Nine Readers – ten against ten, evil balanced against good(8). You shall leave in seven day's time(9).''

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The following six days were spent with preparations and farewells. Elrond and Gandalf spent all their time with the Princess, discussing the possible perils of the upcoming journey, at times including Trotter and even Frodo, which made the hobbit giddy with joy and Boromir fuming with wrath for being left out. However, this gave Legolas and Gimli the most appreciated chance to spend long, undisturbed hours together, merrily mapping the delightful difference between Elven and Dwarven bodies. And that was when Melpomaen accidentally walked in on them on their favourite porch that adjoined the east wing of the Last Homely House.

The young Elf was not in the best mood. His pregnancy had just begun to show, giving his much too thin frame a pleasant fullness that he had lacked before, but it already made him mad with fear that Erestor would not want him any more. Surely, Erestor had been in a foul mood ever since Elrond had declared his betrothal with the Princess a failure, and Melpomaen's morning sickness annoyed him to no end, which made the confused young Elf even more miserable.

Fortunately, he ran into that sturdy young hobbit again, and the small gardener's wide-eyed admiration, added to some more… gardening lessons that left him pleasantly tender afterwards, helped to strengthen his fragile state of mind, so that he finally gathered enough courage to seek out his brother.

He was not prepared, of course, to find him sitting on the ground, with the head of a Dwarf resting upon his lap, his long fingers gently combing that gorgeous, curly beard that covered Gimli's broad chest like dark waves of the stormy Sea. The young Elf froze and tried to retreat unnoticed, but Legolas' keen eyes had already caught a glimpse of him, and he reached out his free hand to him.

''Join us, little brother. I have been looking for you earlier on, but you were no-where to find. I am relieved to hear that our sister was able to persuade the Lord Elrond to keep you here. You owe her for that, you know.''

''Aye, I know'', Melpomaen said unhappily and lowered himself to the ground with a care that made Legolas smile wistfully, ''and I fear she would make me pay for that dearly. Mayhap I would be better off if they sold me to the South Haven. At least my mother might still be there.''

''True; but there are many other places they could sell you'', Legolas reminded him gravely; ''Lórinand would be one of them. Would you want to end up there as the love toy of Halldir and his brothers? Or even the Lady herself?''

Melpomaen paled considerably from the mere thought of _that_. The rumours about the favourite bondage games of Halldir, Rhimbron and Orfin(10), the march-wardens of Lórinand, were widely known in all Elven realms, and being on their mercy was considered little better than becoming imprisoned in Mordor itself. As for the Lady… well, even the rumours stopped in mute horror when it came to _her_.

Legolas smiled sadly and laid a comforting arm around the thin shoulders of his half-brother, which earned him a jealous glare from Gimli(11), but this one time he did not care.

''You have to be careful, little one'', he said. ''I hope the fury of your master shall calm down while our sister is gone with us, and you shall find your way into his good graces again. Right now he is the only one wh (who) can protect you – unless Gimli and I find a place where we can hide from prying eyes and live in peace.''

''You… you would let me dwell with you?'' Melpomaen stuttered in awe. ''But… but I am a mere slave, born in disgrace and…''

''You are my brother'', Legolas interrupted and kissed his brow, not caring for Gimli's angry growling; he would soften his Dwarf's tempers later, but he was all too aware of how he could have ended up just like Melpomaen, regardless of his royal birth. ''I wish I had known earlier that you were still here and had come for you. We shall see what can be done when the quest is over. But now'', he added, casting an envious look at Melpomaen's softly rounded belly, ''tell me about that ent-draught. Is it very hard to get your hands on some of it?''

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Then came that cold grey day in mid November that marked the time of their departure. The East Wind was streaming through the bare branches of the trees, and making the fir-trees in the hills seethe. The hurrying clouds were low and sunless. As the cheerless shadows of the early evening began to fall, the companions of the Ring were ready to depart. Their farewells had all been said by the fire in the great hall, and they were waiting only for Gandalf and the Princess, who were still in the house, speaking some last words in private with Elrond.

Their spare food and other necessaries were laden on two sure-footed ponies. The travellers themselves were to go on foot, for their course was set through lands where there were few roads and paths were rough and difficult. Sooner or later they would have to cross the Mountains. Also they were going to journey for the most part by dusk or dark, just as Elrond had advised them to do.

Sam was standing by the two pack-ponies, sucking his teeth and staring moodily at the house – his desire for adventure was at low ebb. But in that hour none of the hobbits had any heart for their journey – a chill was coming in their hearts and a cold wind in their faces, and their hopes waned. A gleam of firelight came from the open doors; lights were glowing in many windows, and the world outside seemed empty and cold. Bilbo, huddled in his cloak, stood silent on the doorstep beside Frodo. Trotter sat with his head bowed to his knees.

At last Elrond came out with Gandalf and the Princess, who was clad in the same fashion as Legolas himself, catching the eyes of Elves, Men and hobbits at once, due to her delicate beauty, even in the rough garb of the woodland folk. A great bow, challenging even for a strong Man, she was wearing across her back, and a quiver full of green-feathered arrows to that. Her hair was tightly braided with silver strings and wrapped around her head like a crown. No-one could take their eyes from her, not even Elrond himself, for she looked like the warrior Princesses of the Elder Days who fought alongside their husbands and brothers against the winged dragons(12).

''Farewell now,'' the Master of the House said. ''May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you. And may many white stars shine on your journey!'' And with that he stooped and kissed the pearly white brow of the Princess gently.

''Good… good luck!'' said Bilbo, stuttering a little (from the cold perhaps), while Merry and Pippin clung to Frodo, sobbing openly. ''I suppose you will not be able to keep a diary, Frodo my lad, but I shall expect a full account when you get back. And do not be too long about it – I have lived longer than I expected already. Farewell!''

Frodo nodded wordlessly, embracing the old hobbit one last time, but his eyes were on the lovely Princess already, who had joined Gandalf to help him lead the company; then he turned away, to join Sam, who – to his great surprise – was exchanging whispering farewells with that Elven slave that had tried to poison the Princess not so long ago. His faithful Sam's sudden change of heart surprised Frodo a little… in fact, it angered him that someone like that could raise Sam's interest(13). _But poor Sam was always so enthralled with Elves_, he thought, _'tis good that we shall be on our ways. The hardships of the quest would bring him back to his usual, sober self_.

Many others of Elrond's household stood in the shadows and watched them go, bidding them farewell with soft voices. There was no laughter, no songs or music. Silently at last they turned away, just as the Wandering Company faded back ever deeper among the trees, and leading their ponies, they vanished swiftly into the still, dark, grey dawn.

They crossed the bridge of Bruinen and wound slowly up the long, steep paths out of the cloven vale of Rivendell, and came at length to the high moors, grey and formless under misty stars. Then, with one last look down at the lights of the Last Homely House below they strode on, far into the night (14).

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) The Goblin Gate from ''The Hobbit''. The weird geography still belongs to the Great Maker himself. Actually, most of the weird grammar, too.

(2) The River Gladden

(3) The Gladden Fields

(4) I know, this is a little out of order here. But I always found this line of the movie so bombastic that I cannot resist quoting it.evil grin

(5) Darn Tenth Walker. Not very original, I know, but somewhat suiting the situation. shrugs

(6) Which, once again, would be poor Elrond's line.sighs

(7) For he would naturally show it before a bunch of strangers, including the Dwarves!

(8) See? I might have added one more Walker to the Fellowship, but at least I found a perfectly good reason for it. Mathematically.

(9) We all know that Elves measure in sixes and twelves – even the week of the Calendar of Rivendell has six days only – but we cannot let ourselves be bothered by petty canon facts, now can we?

(10) Who, of course, are just the same lewd bunch as all Elves, but with an addictive tendency to incestuous BDSM-games. Their names are correctly spelled, BTW – at least according to ''The Treason of Isengard'' (HoME 7). We shall meet them later. I promise.

(11) For, as the Great Maker says in the appendices, Dwarves take only one wife or husband each in their lives, and are jealous as in all matters of their rights. Who cares that this was a comforting gesture for a disturbed younger brother only?

(12) Well, no, actually they did not. Not that Tolkien would say anything about that. But what's one more canon breach among fanfic addicts?

(13) For no-one else is entitled to occupy Sam's interest, right?

(14) This is the same passage – though from a different POV – that I used in my more serious AU, ''Seal On My Heart''. There were no other pieces from the HoME-books that would have suited this chapter. Sorry for the repetition.


	9. Chapter 9: The Power of Yavanna

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.**

**Rating: PG-13, for some interspecies… erm… interaction.**

**Summary: The Fellowship travels from Rivendell to Hollin. Chaos ensues.**

**Author's notes: Basically, this is the way of the Fellowship to Hollin and beyond.**

Quotes are from ''The Return of the Shadow'' (HoME 6) and ''The Treason of Isengard'' (HoME 7). The randomly appearing Elvish words have – as it is a rule in this sort of stories – no reason why they couldn't be said in English. It is called ''atmosphere'', you know. They probably aren't even correct, but who cares?

Also, we can witness the overly popular Boromir cliché (from evil lustling to mad rapist and/or crazed villain) raising its ugly head. Which won't stop the younger hobbits from lusting after him, of course. You haven't really expected me to miss _that one, have you? Just wait and be very afraid!evil grin_

I apologize for being so late with this update – Real Life had drowned me in other sorts of work lately. Alas, I cannot promise to be quicker in the future. Updates might be few and far between for quite some time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER 9: THE POWER OF YAVANNA 

After the Ford they left the West Road that crossed Bruinen; and turning left they went on by narrow paths among the folded lands. They were going South. Their purpose was to hold this course for many miles and days on the western side of the Misty Mountains. The country was much wilder and rougher than in the green valley of the Great River in Wilderland on the eastern side of the Mountain, and their going now would be much slower, but they hoped in this way to escape the notice of enemies. The spies of Sauron had hitherto seldom been seen in the western regions; and the paths were little known except to the people of Rivendell.

Gandalf walked in the front and with him went Trotter who knew this country even in the dark. They flanked the Princess on both sides, to protect her from any possible perils. The hobbits followed them in no particular order, then came Legolas and Gimli in companionable silence. Boromir as rearguard walked behind.

The first part of their journey was cheerless and grim and Frodo remembered little of it, except the cold wind. It blew icily from the eastern mountains for many sunless days and no garment seemed able to keep out its searching fingers. They had been well furnished  with warm clothes in Rivendell, and had jackets and cloaks lined with fur as well as many blankets, but they seldom felt warm, either moving or at rest. They slept uneasily during the middle of the day, in some hollow of the land, or hidden under the tangled thorn-bushes that grew in great thickets in those parts. In the late afternoon they were roused and had their chief meal: usually cold and cheerless and with little talk, for they seldom risked the lighting of a fire. In the evening they went on again, as nearly due south as they could find a way.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Neither Legolas, nor his sister seemed to be bothered by the weather. The Prince of Mirkwood stuck to his Dwarven friend, keeping him company on the way during the night and sharing blankets with him during the daily rests – after the others had fallen asleep, for they had to be careful. Usually, they slept on the farthest side of their camp, so that they could sneak away when one of them was to keep watch(1).

''Ai, Gimli, you are as hot as the furnaces under the Mountain'', the Elf Prince moaned softly, burrowing himself into the deep caves of the stout Dwarven body under the guise of his shadowy grey cloak. ''What a lucky Elf I am to have such a furnace to warm myself at it! Oh, _melethron, how I wish that this quest were over and we could return to our lives! But alas! I fear that a long time shall be gone ere we can devour the sweetness of love undisturbed.''_

''That is my fear, too'', the Dwarf grunted, panting in his heavy labour, for though Dwarves bear great hardnesses easily, even their strength has is limits, and the journey and the cold began taking its toll on Gimli. ''But speak not of gloomy days yet to come, my dear, limber Elf. Let me drink deeply of the fountain of love ere we find some much-needed rest.''

Legolas did as he was asked, muffling his cries in the magnificent beard of his Dwarf, and after having regained control over their trembling limbs, they returned to the camp. Neither of them noticed Boromir, standing a little farther away, looking after them with hooded, jealous eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At first it seemed to the hobbits that they were creeping like snails and getting nowhere; for each day the land looked much as it had done the day before. Yet all the while the Mountains which south of Rivendell bent westward were drawing nearer. More and more often they found no paths and had to make wide turns to avoid either steep places, or thickets, or sullen treacherous swamps. The land was tumbled in barren hills and deep valleys filled with turbulent waters.

Merry and Faramond mostly remained with Boromir, for they could not hope that the Princess Telepampaiel(2) would care for their company; she made it painfully obvious that only Gandalf and Trotter were her equals in knowledge and leadership – mayhap not even them. So, the younger hobbits followed the big Man faithfully, relishing in his strength that helped them getting over the obstacles many times and cuddling with him during the rests eagerly. For the most time, Boromir simply ignored their advances, but when the weather turned bitterly cold, even he learnt to appreciate the warm little bodies pressing against his side under the shared blankets.

Finally, when they had been about ten days on the road, the weather grew better The wind suddenly veered southward. The swift flowing clouds lifted and melted away, and the sun came out.

There came at dawn at the end of a long stumbling night march. The travellers reached a low ridge crowned with ancient holly trees, whose pale fluted trunks seemed to have been formed out of the very stone of the hills. Their berries shone red in the light of the rising sun. Far away south Frodo saw the dim shapes of the mountains that seemed now to lie across their path. To the left of this distant range a tall peak stood up like a tooth: it was tipped with snow but its bare western shoulder glowed redly in the growing light.

Gandalf stood by Frodo's side and looked out under his hand. ''We have done well'', he said. ''We have reached the borders of the country called Hollin: many Elves lived here once in happier days. Eighty leagues we have come(3), if we have come a mile, and we have marched quicker than winter from the North. The land and weather will be milder now – but perhaps the more dangerous.''

''Danger or not, a real sunrise is mighty welcome'', said Frodo, throwing back his hood and letting the morning light play on his face.

''Mountains ahead!'' said Faramond. ''We seemed to have turned eastward.''

''No, 'tis the mountains that have turned'', said Gandalf(4). ''Do you not remember Elrond's map in Rivendell?''

''No, I did not look very carefully at it'', said Faramond. ''Frodo has a better head for things of that sort.''

''Well, anyone who did look at the map'', said Gandalf, ''would see that away there stand Taragaer or Ruddyhorn(5) – that mountain with the red side. The Misty Mountains divide there and between their arms lies the land(6) of Caron-dún, the Red Valley(7). Our way lies there: over the Red Pass of Cris-caron(8), under Taragaer's side, and into Caron-dún and down the River Redway(9) – to the Great River, and… He stopped.

''Yes, and where then?'' asked Merry.

''To the end of the journey – in the end'', said Gandalf. ''But at first the evergreen forest of Fangorn, through the midst of which runs the Great River(10). But we will not look too far ahead. Let us be glad that the first stage is safely over. I think we will rest here for a whole day. There is a wholesome air about Hollin. Much evil must befall any country before it wholly forgets the Elves, if once they have dwelt there.''

''That is true'', said the Princess, and once again, her pale face took on that otherworldly look as if she would be listening to something audible to her only. ''But the Elves of this land were of a strange race, and the spirit that dwells here is alien to us, who are of the woodland folk Here dwelt Noldor, the Elven-wise, and all the stones about cry to me with many voices: they built high towers to heaven, and delved deep to earth, and they are gone. They are gone. They sought the Havens long ago.''

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That morning they lit a fire in a deep hollow shrouded by the great holly trees, and their supper was merrier than it had been since they left the house of Elrond. They did not hurry to bed afterwards, for they had all the night to sleep in and did not mean to go on until the evening of next day. Only Trotter was moody and restless. After a while he left the company and wandered about on the ridge, looking out on the lands south and west. He came back and stood looking at them.

''What is the matter?'' said Merry. ''Do you miss the east wind?''

''No indeed'', answered Trotter. ''But I miss something. I know Hollin fairly well, and have been here in many seasons. No people dwell here now, but many other things live here, or used to – especially birds. But now it is very silent. I can feel it. There is no sound for miles round, and your voices seem to make the ground echo. I cannot make it out.''

Gandalf looked up quickly. ''But what do you _think the reason is? He asked. ''Is there more in it than surprise at seeing a whole party of hobbits (not to mention Boromir and me) where people are so seldom seen?''_

''I hope that it is'', said Trotter. ''But I get a feeling of watchfulness and of fear that I have never had here before.''

''Very well! Let us be more careful'', said Gandalf. ''If you bring a Ranger with you, it is best to pay attention to him – especially if the Ranger is Trotter, as I have found before. There are some things that even an experienced wizard does not notice. We had better stop talking now, and rest quietly and set a look-out.''

It was Sam's turn to take the first watch, but Trotter joined him. The others soon fell asleep, one by one. The silence grew till even Sam felt it. The breathing of the sleepers could be plainly heard. The swish of a pony's tail and the occasional movements of his feet became loud noises. Sam seemed to hear his very joints creaking if he stirred or moved. Over all hung a blue sky as the sun rode high and clear. The last clouds melted. But away in the south-east a dark patch grew and divided, flying like smoke to the north and west.

''What is that?'' said Sam in a whisper to Trotter. Trotter made no answer, for he was gazing intently at the sky, but before long Sam could see what it was for himself. The clouds were flocks of mean-looking, black birds going at great speed – wheeling and circling and traversing all the land as if they were searching for something.

''Lie flat and still'', hissed Trotter, drawing Sam down into the shade of a holly-bush – for a whole regiment of birds had separated from the western flock and came back flying low right over the ridge where the travellers lay. Sam thought they were some kind of crow of a large size. As they passed overhead one harsh croak was heard.

Not till they had dwindled in the distance would Trotter move. Then he went and wakened Gandalf. ''Regiments of black crows are flying to and fro over Hollin'', he said. ''They are not natives to this place. I do not know what they are after – possibly there is some trouble going on away south: but I think they are spying out the land.''

''They are _crebain, from Dunland and the Fangorn that is also called the Topless Forest'', the Princess added soberly. Trotter stared at her with open mouth, admiring her vast knowledge about the beasts and birds of even far-away places, though he should not have been surprised that much. The Cult of Yavanna was bound to every living thing on Earth – not even the most evil creatures could hide from the prying eyes of the Anointed Ones._

''I think too that I have seen hawks flying higher in the sky'', he then said. ''That would account for the silence(11). We ought to move again this evening. I am afraid that Hollin is no longer wholesome for us: it is being watched.''

''And in that case so is the Red Pass, and how we can get over it without being seen I do not know'', said Gandalf. ''But we will think about that when we get nearer. About moving on from here tonight: I am afraid you are right.''

''It is as well that we let our fire make little smoke'', said Trotter. ''It was out again (I think) before the birds came over. It must not be lit again.''

''Well, if that is not disappointing!'' said Faramond. The news had been broken to him as soon as he woke (in the late afternoon): no fire, and a move again by night. ''I had looked forward to a real good meal tonight, something hot. All because of a pack of crows!''

''Well, you can go on looking forward'', said Gandalf. ''There may be many unexpected feasts ahead of you! Personally I should like a pipe of tobacco in comfort, and warmer feet. However, we are certain of one thing, at any rate: it will get warmer as we go south.''

''Too warm, I should not wonder!'' said Sam to Frodo. ''Not but what I would be glad to see that Fiery Mountain, and see the road's end, so to speak. I thought that there Ruddyhorn or whatever its name is might be it, till Mr. Gandalf said not.'' Maps conveyed nothing to Sam, and all distances in these strange lands seemed so vast that he was quite out of his reckonings.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The travellers remained hidden all that day. The birds passed over every now and again; but as the westering sun grew red they vanished southwards(12). Soon afterwards the party set out again; and turned now a little eastward making for the peak of Taragaer which still glowed dully red in distance. Frodo thought of Elrond's warning to watch even the sky above, but the sky was now clear and empty overhead, and one by one white stars sprang forth as the last gleams of sunset faded.

Guided by Trotter and Gandalf as usual, they struck a good path. It looked to Frodo, as far as he could guess in the gathering dark, like the remains of an ancient road that had once run broad and well-planned from now deserted Hollin to the pass beneath Taragaer. A crescent Moon rose over the mountains, and cast a pale light which was helpful – but was not welcomed by Trotter or Gandalf. It stayed but a little while and left them to the stars(13). At midnight they had been going again for an hour or more from their first halt. Frodo kept looking up at the sky, partly because of its beauty, partly because of Elrond's words. Suddenly he saw or felt a shadow pass over the stars – as if they faded and flashed out again. He shivered.

''Did you see anything?'' He said to Gandalf, who was just in front.

''No, but I felt it, whatever it was'', said the wizard. ''It might be nothing, just a wisp of thin cloud.'' It did not sound as if he thought much of his own explanation(14).

Still, the others found it better not to bother him with their questions. Only the Princess seemed not frightened by his bad mood.

''We have to do something, Gandalf'', she said. ''We cannot remain here unprotected – the _crebain might return, just like that black shadow that passed the sky above us a moment ago.''_

''I know that'', the wizard grumbled. ''But unlike my good cousin Radagast, I have no powers over the birds and the beasts to turn them away at my own convenience.''

''Mayhap'', the Princess answered, ''but _I do. I can perform a protection spell by the Power of Yavanna, that would hide us from prying eyes. 'Tis a perilous spell, but I am strong enough to cast it – with your help.''_

Gandalf considered it for a moment, then he nodded. ''Let us try it. What should I do?''

The Princess looked around under she found a large stone with a deep dent in its middle. She brought forth a small silver pitcher and poured some water into the dent. Then she produced a crystal vial from a hidden pocket of her tunic, half-filled with some glowing blue liquid. Chanting slowly in the secret tongue of the Wood-Elves, she added three droplets of this mysterious liquid to the water, before sealing the vial safely again and letting it disappear among the folds of her clothing.

Smoke began to ascend from the natural basin in the stone. The Princess straightened, stretching her beautiful arms skywards, her voice rose with the ancient, perilous magic of the woodland folk. A hot wind came up, loosening the tight braid of her hair and blowing the ebony tresses powerfully, 'til they floated around her pale face like a storm cloud. A barely visible, green glow enveloped her fragile frame, threatening to tear her apart any minute, and her eyes were burning with living fire.

All stared at her with open mouths, and even Gandalf felt a little frightened, for the unleashing of such strong magic could have brought serious damage to the delicate balance of power in the order of Arda. But the Princess seemed to know what she was doing; for after a few moments, her glowing slowly became subdued, 'til it disappeared entirely; and she staggered and sunk into the eager arms of Trotter who stood next to her(15).

''Now we shall be safe from spying eyes for the rest of our journey'', she murmured in utter exhaustion, too tired to protest when Trotter gathered her up in his strong arms and carried her to the bedroll the eager hobbits had already prepared for her. No-one of them noticed the hateful glare Boromir sent after them, nor Gandalf's unveiled amazement that was clearly visible upon his wrinkled and bearded face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nothing more happened that night. The next morning was even brighter than before, but the wind was turning back eastward and the air was chill. For three more nights they marched on, climbing steadily and ever more slowly as their road wound into the hills and the mountains drew nearer and nearer. On the third morning Taragaer towered up before them, a mighty peak tipped with snow like silver, but with sheer naked sides dull red as if stained with blood.

There was a black look in the air and the sun was wan. The wind was now gone towards the North. Gandalf sniffed and looked back. ''Winter is behind'', he said quietly to Trotter. ''The peaks behind are whiter than they were.''

''And tonight'', said Trotter, ''we shall be high up on our way to the red pass of Cris-caron. What do you think of our course now? If we are not seen in that narrow place – and waylaid by some evil, as would be easy there – the weather may prove as bad an enemy.''

''I think no good of any part of our course, as you know well, Master Ingold'', snapped Gandalf. ''Still we have to go on. It is no good whatever our trying to cross further south into the land of Rohan. The Horse-kings have long been in the service of Sauron(16).''

''No, I know that. But there is a way – not _over Cris-caron, as you are well aware.''_

''Of course I am. But I am not going to risk that, until I am quite sure there is no other way. I shall think things out while the others rest and sleep(17).''

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) Hey, don't look at me!  I was not the one who came up with the excellent idea letting them go for it while they were supposed to keep watch! It is almost a game imperative nowadays.

(2) Bird-tamer. You'll see the reason for it later.

(3) This is the first occurrence of Hollin; but the Elvish name Eregion does not appear. In the Etymologies the Elvish name of Hollin is Regornion. In FOTR Gandalf says that they have come 45 leagues, but that was as the crow flies: ''many long miles further our feet have walked. Oh, and the words about the lost Elves of Hollin originally belonged to Legolas, of course.

(4) Another fabulous change in the mythic Tolkien geography.

(5) The name of the vale was first Carndoom the Red Valley.

(6) ''The ''red horn mountain'' had  seven (!) different names ere the Great Maker settled for Caradhras.

(7) No, we wont go into detail about Tolkien's ever-changing geography. It seems that the shaping of Middle-earth was never quite finished.g

(8) The name of the pas was first written Criscarn.

(9) The later Silverlode.

(10) Tolkien mentions in an outline given earlier that Beleghir the Great River divided into many channels in Fangorn Forest. I realize, of course, that giving you all these names has no true reason, but every self-respecting writer should dig up some unpronounceable names from practically unknown sources. They sound cool, they confuse the reader and they make the author feel superior in her supposed Tolkien-scholarship.

(11) While in FOTR Aragorn says that he has seen hawks flying high up, he does not say as Trotter does here, ''That would account for the silence''.

(12) ''southwards'' changed from what was originally ''northwards''.

(13) It was now 28 November (since they walked for three nights after this and attempted Cris-caron on 2 December).

(14) This incident was retained in FOTR, but it is not explained. The Winged Nazgúl had not yet crossed the River, according to ''The Two Towers.

(15) The whole ridiculous ritual is the product of my sick mind, of course, though the radioactive, glowing Galadriel of the movie _did have some influence on me while I created it._

(16) This is unquestionably the point at which the name Rohan arose. The sentence itself was changed to ''Rohan where the Horsekings or Horselords are'', and later in FOTR to ''Who knows which side now the marshals of the Horse-Lords serve?''

(17) In the original story Trotter favoured the passage of Moria and Gandalf the pass; in FOTR it was Aragorn who favoured the pass.


	10. Interlude in Rivendell

**THE JOYS OF A BEARD**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** strong R, for some Elven nastiness.

**Warning:** This chapter is really, really bad. A lot worse than all the others. This is sappy, smutty badfic of the worst sort. You have been properly warned.

**Summary:** Now a look at what our favourite pregnant Elf is doing back in Rivendell.

**Author's notes:** Originally, I hadn't planned to follow Melpomaen's fate any longer, but Finch grew so fond of him that I could not abandon our poor Marty Sam.

Once again, my heartfelt thanks to Nemis for cleaning out the grammatical mess.

INTERLUDE IN RIVENDELL

Anor had hardly risen its golden face above the dull grey horizon when Melpomaen was awakened from his restless sleep by morning sickness. He groaned while staggering onto his feet to reach the shared washroom of the house slaves. Six moons into pregnancy, and he had been sick every single morning so far.

When he returned, weak and miserable, he sank back onto his hard and narrow bed, trembling. He had been living in this bleak, shadowy little hole ever since his enraged master had kicked him out of his bedchamber. Not that this was entirely bad, though. At least the Lord Elrond never came to this lowly part of the Great House, so Melpomaen could not raise his ire.  Yet he was lonely and very, very unhappy, craving the touch of his master in vain(1).

He looked down his own body and could understand the displeasure of his master. He had lost much weight, and – save his belly that seemed to swell visibly with every passing day – he had become almost frighteningly thin. No-one in his right mind would desire him now. Not even that little half-high gardener that had taken such good care of him a few times – and most certainly not his master.

Erestor had found a new fancy already – he shared his bed with beautiful young Lindir now, the golden-haired minstrel of the valley, who had had an eye on him for a long time and now jumped at the chance without a second thought.

However, Lindir was not a cruel Elf, though his blunt honesty made him uncomfortable company at times. Yet 'twas him and not Master Erestor who visited Melpomaen occasionally, looking into consider: the pregnant Elf getting some decent food, and even taking care of his more… intimate needs by chance(2).

''I love Erestor,'' he explained with an odd logic that few others could follow yet all accepted, for that was the easiest way, ''therefore I love all that is his. You and the child in your body _are_ his – and you both need to be loved. If he is not able to do so, I shall.''

Melpomaen was grateful beyond measure for the young minstrel's efforts which alone made his fate somewhat bearable. For now that he had lost his privileged status among the house slaves, the others were rather cruel to him, calling him Figwit (which means little rodent(3) in the Elf-speech instead of using his true name and making evil fun of him at every given opportunity. Of course, the freshly-spread news that he was the bastard son of Thranduil of Mirkwood helped the whole matter little(4).

The young Elf sighed and slowly, trying to avoid upsetting his unsteady stomach any more, he began to get dressed. One good thing the morning sickness certainly brought about: he got the chance to have a quick wash without the other slaves harassing him as it had become their custom ever since he has lost his master's favour(5). He put on the dull grey leggings and tunic all the house slaves had to wear, for he had been robbed of all his clothing privileges, too. Despite all that he had done for his master, he was no longer Erestor's favoured pet.

The tears came unasked-for, just as they did every time he thought of his loss. 'Twas not the lowered state that pained him – he had accepted the ups and downs of a slave's life long ago. But having his beloved master turning away from him was more than he was able to bear.

He closed his eyes, trying to will his _fëa_ to leave his body. Even death seemed better than being thrown away like a useless toy. 'Twould be better for the child, too, to die before being tossed into such a cruel world… Melpomaen sank to his knees and succumbed to darkness willingly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He was certain that he had died and gone to Heaven like mortal Men were said to do(6), for when he opened his eyes, he found himself in the bedchamber of his master again. He felt weak yet sated as if he had just spent himself in blissful abandon, more passionately than he had done so for a very long time.

He turned his head and saw, Lindir, curled up on his side, wearing a sweetly innocent smile – and naught else. Yet the huge bed was definitely Erestor's…

''What have you done?'' Melpomaen asked in utter shock. Master Erestor would be furious if he caught them together (and in his own bed, to that). Lindir might come out of it unharmed, but not a disobedient slave who had fallen from grace already.

''I spoke to Erestor,'' Lindir yawned and stretched like a cat, revealing even more soft, creamy(7) skin as the heavy silk sheets slid down his graceful limbs. ''I asked him to share you with me, and he agreed. You have been moved back to his chambers and are to remain here… as long as you prove to be pleasant company.''

Melpomaen understood the true meaning of these words all too well, but he did not mind servicing the young minstrel when he could stay near his beloved master in exchange. Lindir was a reasonable Elf who made their… encounters pleasant enough for him to cope with the new arrangement.

''I fear that shall not be a long time,'' he said, saddening again as the thought came to his mind. ''Soon I shall be too big to give pleasure to any one.''

''Oh, you know not the skills of a minstrel,'' Lindir grinned. ''Roll onto your side and I shall show you that the harp is not the only tool of pleasure I can play. You shall sing for me like a nightingale in no time.''

Melpomaen obeyed, offering his secret garden to those long, skilled fingers that wormed themselves forth to his most hidden depths, sending hot shivers of pleasure through his whole body, eliciting lyrical moans from his lips as they played him like a well-tuned harp, indeed, ere the hot iron of Lindir's plough-share dug up his inmost soil.

From the back of his bedchamber, Erestor watched their slow rocking from hooded eyes. Never had he found Melpomaen more desirable than this, being ridden by his young, golden lover, flushed and moaning wantonly that it sounded like the sweet song of a nightingale, indeed, his thin body swollen with Erestor's child, his breasts becoming softly rounded as his pregnancy advanced. Lindir had been right, Erestor realized. His condition made Melpomaen even more exquisite. As for himself, he had been a fool to toss the young slave out of his bed.

''Make room for me!'' Erestor ordered, switching places with Lindir and sliding home into the well-known, sweet tightness of his slave with practiced ease. Melpomaen's moans became strangled cries as the mighty spear of his master stretched him to his limits. This was Heaven. This was everything he needed. He knew he could not live without Erestor's possessive love any longer.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Somewhat later, when he returned from that hazy place of unlimited passion, he found himself lying between his master and Lindir who both were caressing him gently. He sighed in bliss, hiding his face in the curve of Erestor's neck. He was at home again, where he belonged.

The golden minstrel, though, looked worried.

''I know not whether we are doing the right thing, Erestor,'' he said, rubbing the pregnant Elf's back with his skilled fingers. ''Certainly, 'twas right to get him out of that fetid hole, but I fear what might happen when our Lord catches sight of him. You know he could take him as his own.''

''Nay, I doubt he would,'' replied Erestor, stroking Melpomaen's belly absently. ''Our Lord is Half-Elvin. They have strange habits – the fewest of them would lie with males(8).''

''You are one of them,'' Lindir pointed out, ''yet you follow not their sickening ways. Are you not the kinsman of our Lord?''

''Only from my father's side,'' Erestor shrugged. ''You fret too much. Elrond has only eyes for women.''

''Look at him,'' Lindir pointed with his chin at Melpomaen who had fallen asleep under their ministrations. ''Does he not remind you of a she-Elf as he lies here, with his swollen belly and his softened breasts? Is he not exceedingly beautiful? Do you truly believe that our Lord would be able to resist him, would he catch sight of him like this?''

''Elrond would never take what is mine,'' Erestor dismissed with an impatient gesture.

''Would he not?'' Lindir asked. ''He certainly took the Princess Baraniavasiel(9) from you. According to his chamber servant, the old Erlossëion(10), he promised to marry her himself, as soon as the Ring Quest was over.''

''So _that_ was the true reason why he annulled our betrothal?'' Erestor gritted his teeth. ''He wanted the Princess for himself, did he not? As if it were not enough that the little bitch refused to bond with me for true, he had to take her as his own, too. Mayhap Melpomaen was not so wrong with the wolf-cherry tea, after all. He only chose the wrong person.''

''Erestor!'' Lindir seemed genuinely frightened. ''You cannot be planning what I fear you are planning right now?''

Erestor leaned over his sleeping slave to kiss his young lover.

''We should not speak of this… not now and not here. The only servant I truly trust is Melpomaen, yet we cannot count on him. We shall have to work out a plan very carefully.''

''What plan?'' Lindir asked, near panic. ''Do you want the Princess back?''

''Nay, I never truly wanted her in the first place,'' Erestor answered with a dark, cruel smirk. ''I just wanted the power that would have come with this marriage. But there are other ways to gain power. The One was not the only Great Ring that was made. There still are the Three to consider.''

''One of which our Lord guards like a dragon, the second of which the Evil Bitch of Lórinand is wearing, and the third of which is on its way with a cranky old wizard to be taken by Sauron,'' Lindir replied sarcastically(11).

''There are ways into Lórinand's most secret depths that but few people know, unless they had an ally in the Golden Wood,'' Erestor said softly. ''The entry has its price, of course, but if you gamble boldly, you can lay hand on the Ring of Adamant. Just as you can get Vilya if you know what you have to do.''

''And what about the Ring of Fire?'' Lindir asked. ''How do you intend to take it from Mithrandir?''

''That,'' Erestor admitted, ''is the only weak point of my plan. Nevertheless, we shall work on the other parts first and hope to come up with something when the time is ripe. Which means that you shall have to leave Rivendell, soon.''

''Why?'' Lindir frowned. ''Have you grown tired of me already?''

''Most certainly _not_!'' Erestor replied indignantly. ''Yet if you are right about Elrond, Melpomaen must be brought to a safe place. Someplace where he can carry out and birth our child unbothered. Rivendell is not such a place any more. And whom can I trust to take good care of him but you?"

Lindir blinked a few times. He loathed to be separated from his newly found lover, yet he understood the reason behind Erestor's decision, regardless of how much it pained him. Melpomaen was with Erestor's child, and after Erestor had accepted that child as his, he also took responsibility for the bearer's safety. Besides, Lindir had fallen for the dark-haired Half-Elvin so deep that he would do anything for him.

''Where do you want me to bring him?'' he asked, his heart bleeding silently.

''There is only one place where he would be safe,'' Erestor answered gravely. ''You will have to take him to Fangorn Forest.''

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) In case you knew not, male Elves can get extremely horny when pregnant.

(2) See above. Or did you never hear how promiscuous those Rivendell Elves were?

(3) Ummm… no, actually, it does not. But with all that horrible fake Elvish floating through Tolkien ficdom, I won't be surprised if someone believed me. g

(4) This is something I was always wondering about: Why has it became a common opinion in fanon that Elrond and Thranduil hate each other? Personally, I have never seen any evidence of this in canon (though, of course, I don't possess HoME 12 yet), so if anyone could provide any proof, I'd be thankful.

(5) Why are you so surprised? According all that Thranduil badfic I was unfortunate enough to stumble over, 'tis a common sport in Mirkwood Palace to take advantage of helpless young slaves, every time they happen to come around a shadowy corner. Especially on the male ones. Elrond's slaves are only following time-honoured Mirkwood custom.

(6) What do you mean Elves cannot do that? Well *I know* that, too. But I am writing a badfic here, remember? And to quote a common argument against those who would like to read about *Tolkien's* characters and settings: ''Hey, 'tis fanfic, everything can happen!'' very evil grin

(7) This is something that *has* to be said every time a young, nubile Elf is described. Ask me not for the reason. I did not invent the cliché. And silk sheets are obligatory, too.

(8) While Elves, of course, only lie with their females when they want children. What? Have you never read any Elrond stories?

(9) Horny Elf-Bitch. Sorry, my mind seems to be in the gutter lately.

(10) Lying Weasel. shrug I was unable to come up with anything more creative.

(11) For, of course, every single one in Rivendell would know the whereabouts of the pretty little Elven trinkets – and discuss it openly.


	11. Chapter 10: Fighting the Ruddyhorn

THE JOYS OF A BEARD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

**Rating:** PG – warning, horny Dwarf!

**Summary:** They attempt to cross the Mountains – and fail. 

**Author's notes:**

As you will see, there are quite some differences compared to both the canon _and_ my own AU-fic. No Saruman here, and not even the fight with the Wargs – for the simple reason that they were not yet present in the earliest drafts. Also, there will be no surprising plot twist this time; the focus is on the supernatural abilities of the Sue and on bad slash aspects, once again.

Quotes are from ''The Return of the Shadow'' (HoME 6) and ''The Treason of Isengard'' (HoME 7). This time a little more than usual – I was unable to resist some incredibly funny lines.

As always, heartfelt thanks to Nemis for beta reading

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER 10: FIGHTING THE rUDDYHORN

In the late afternoon, before preparations were made for moving, Gandalf spoke to the travellers. As it was his wont, he spoke in long-winding sentences, so that after the second or third one none of his companions was able to pay any more attention – so they tried to find something to distract themselves from the speech of the wizard.

Legolas simply fell asleep, turning away from Gandalf so that the wizard would not see his unfocussed eyes. Gimli stole a hand under the perfect rear of his Elf, making sure that the exhausted archer would have pleasant dreams – after all, it _was_ his fault that the fair Prince found no rest during the sleeping hours. Merry and Faramond, snuggled together, were busily watching Boromir's manly profile, exchanging small words of admiration in a voice too low even for Elven ears to hear – not that either Legolas, or the Princess Dolenganeien(1) would care for them the littlest, but they wanted not to get caught.

The Princess herself, however, was listening to the wizard with the loving attention a wise master would listen to a promising apprentice. She had been longer in Middle-earth than Gandalf, after all, and there was precious little the grumpy old man could have taught her. The Anointed One of Yavanna needed not to be lectured by someone who had not grown up walking these very paths between Rivendale, Mirkwood and Lórinand hundreds of times. Still, she had the courtesy to at least pay some attention to his words, even if her finely educated mind was elsewhere during the whole speech.

The gaze of her very bright eyes met Frodo's weary yet still curious look, and for a fleeting moment the hobbit felt the unrestrained power and infinite wisdom that was hidden behind those seemingly young features of the lovely Princess. His breast swell with pride that this wondrous creature chose to walk with him on the paths of peril and protect him from evils beyond his imagination. He noticed not the glares of bitter jealousy the faithful Sam shot at the same elated person.

''We have now come to our first serious difficulty and doubt'', Gandalf finally said, reaching the end of his introduction while their last hot meal for a while slowly grew cold. ''The pass that we ought to take is up there ahead'' – he waved his hand towards Taragaer: its sides were now dark and sullen, for the sun had gone, and its head was in grey cloud. The hobbits shivered; Merry and Faramond shuffled closer to Boromir, enjoying the warmth of that big, heavy body, and Boromir patted their small butts  absently(2).

''It will take us at least two marches to get near the top of the pass'', Gandalf continued. ''From certain signs we have seen recently I fear it may be watched or guarded; and in any case Trotter and I have doubts of the weather, on this wind. But I am afraid we must go on.''

''And right you are, Master Wizard, I fear,'' the Princess sighed. ''We cannot go back into the winter; and further south the passes are held. Tonight we must push along as hard as we can.''

The hearts of the travellers sank at her words. Gimli gave his beloved a firm squeeze, so that Legolas jerked awake in a moment, slightly flushed and still basking in the afterglow of his dreams. Seeing that Gandalf ceased speaking, he made a barely audible, relieved sigh and moved on to get ready for the continuing journey. Gimli was careful enough not to follow him, though several delightful images appeared before his mind's eye about how they could use that small dent where the luggage lay, for more… creative purposes.

The others hurried with their preparations as well, and started off at as good a pace as they could make. The winding and twisting road had long been neglected and in places was blocked with fallen stones, over which they had great difficulty in finding any way to lead the pack ponies. After less than an hour Gimli was already swearing under his breath, first in Westron then in Khuzdul, the sound of which made Legolas feel so hot that he had to forcibly restrain himself from grabbing his Dwarf and vanishing with him somewhere in the dark shadows aside of the road.

Yet he knew they had to be very, very careful, for more and more often he felt the mesmerizing gaze of his sister resting upon Gimli and himself, and it took him all his inner might to force his own mind to think harmless thoughts, in case the Princess should have managed to pierce his inner defences. This was turning into a very… unpleasant journey for the fair Prince.

The night grew deadly dark under the great clouds; a bitter wind swirled among the rocks. By midnight they had already climbed to the very knees of the great mountains, and were going straight up under a mountain-side, with a deep ravine guessed but unseen on their right. Suddenly Frodo felt soft cold touches on his face. He put out his arm, and saw white snowflakes settle on his sleeve. Before long they were falling fast, swirling from every direction into his eyes, and filling all the air. The dark shapes of Gandalf and Trotter, a few paces in front, could hardly be seen.

''I do not like this'', panted Sam just behind. ''Snow is all right on a fine morning, seen from a window; but I like to be in bed while it is falling.'' He restrained himself from telling whom he would prefer to share said bed with. As a matter of fact snow fell very seldom in most parts of the Shire, except the moors of the Northfarting. And though hobbit children enjoyed making snowballs greatly, snow was generally considered a nuisance by grown hobbits who loathed to have cold toes.

The little gardener tried to get closer to his beloved master, trying to keep him warm, but Frodo only had eyes for the lovely Princess, who seemed to float near them weightlessly, and the smile she shot at them warmed their insides like by wonder. The cold seemed not to bother her at all, though even Legolas accepted the shared cloak of Gimli, no matter how peculiar they looked, with the Elf stooped almost to the ground, in order to be at a similar height as his comrade.

Gandalf halted. Frodo thought as he came up by him that he already looked almost like a snow-man. Snow was white on his hood and bowed shoulders, and it was hanging in big lumps from his bushy brows.

''This is bad business!'' said the wizard. ''I never bargained for this, and left snow out of my plans. It seldom falls as far south as this except on the high peaks, and here we are not halfway up even to the high pass. I wonder if the Enemy has anything to do with it. He has strange powers and many allies.''

''We had better get all the party together'', said Trotter. ''We do not want to lose anyone on a night like this.''

For a while they struggled on. The snow became a blinding blizzard, and soon it was in places almost knee-deep. Legolas wrapped all the limbs he needed not for going around Gimli, in order to keep his Dwarf warm – they looked like some many-legged, mystic creature, under their shared cloak.

''It will be up over my head before long'', said Merry. Faramond was dragging behind and needed what help Merry and Sam could give him. Frodo felt his own legs like lead at every step and gave Faramond, who was at least kept warm by his two comrades, envious looks.

Boromir rolled his eyes, grabbed the two youngest hobbits and tucked them under his fur-lined cloak – Merry and Faramond wrapped their legs around his hips and waist, nearly knocking him off-balance, clinging to him desperately and burrowing their curly heads in the crook of his neck from both sides. 

The Princess leaned over to Trotter and said something to him in Elfish(3). The Ranger left her side reluctantly, but he _did_ stumble back to Frodo's side, lifting him with a sigh, and wrapping him into his own cloak, just like Boromir did with Merry and Faramond. Frodo was too weary to even hug him – he just lay in the Ranger's arms, trembling.

Suddenly they heard strange sounds: they may have been but tricks of the rising wind in cracks and gullies of the rocks, but it sounded like hoarse cries and howls of harsh laughter. Then stones began to fall whirling like leaves on the wind, and crashing onto the path and the rocks on either hand. Every now and again they heard in the darkness a dull rumble as a great boulder rolled down thunderously from hidden heights in the dark above.

The party halted. All were panting with fear, and for a fleeting moment, even the Princess seemed to become paler than usual. But she overcame her fear so quickly that no-one noticed it.

''We cannot get any further tonight'', said Trotter. ''You can call it the wind if you like, but I call it voices – and those stones are aimed at us, or at least at the path.''

''I do call it the wind'', answered the Princess solemnly, cutting off a lengthy answer from Gandalf with practiced ease – after all, the wizard had been a frequent enough visitor in her father's court to figure out his habits; ''but that does not make the rest untrue. Not all the servants of the Enemy have bodies or arms and legs.''

''What can we do?'' asked Frodo. His heart suddenly failed him, and he felt alone and lost in dark and driving snow, mocked at by demons of the mountains. He felt hot tears swelling up in his big, cerulean eyes, and his rosebud lips – now slightly blue-ish from the cold – were trembling with fear(4).

''Stop here or go back'', answered Gandalf, ere the Princess could silence him again. ''We are protected at present by the high wall on our left, and a deep gully on the right. Further up there is a wide shallow valley, and the road runs at the bottom of two long slopes. We should now hardly get through there without damage, quite apart from the snow.''

After some debate they retreated to a spot they had passed just before the snow came on. There the path passed under a low overhanging cliff. It faced southwards and they hoped it would give them some protection from the wind. But the eddying blasts whirled in from either side, and the snow came down thicker than ever. They huddled together with their backs to the wall. The two ponies stood dejected but patiently in front of them and served as some kind of screen, but before long the snow was up to their bellies and still mounting. The hobbits crouching behind were nearly buried, and Merry and Faramond complained quietly to each other about having lost the warmth of Boromir's big, strong body.

A great sleepiness came over Frodo, and he felt himself fast sinking into a warm and hazy dream, snuggling close to Sam who nearly fainted from bliss. He thought a fire was warming his toes, and out of the shadows he heard Bilbo's voice speaking. ''I do not think much of your diary'', he heard him say. ''Snowstorm on December 2nd(5): there was no need to come back to report that.''

Suddenly he felt himself violently shaken, and came back painfully to wakefulness. Boromir had lifted him roughly off the ground.

''This snow will be the death of the half-highs, Gandalf'', he scowled in annoyance; truth to be told, he greatly disliked the Ring-bearer and his ever-quivering lower lip – at least the younger ones were of good spirits, if not cold or weary or hungry. ''We must do something.''

''Give them this'', said Gandalf, fumbling in his pack that lay beside him, and drawing out a leather flagon. ''Just a little each – for all of us. It is very precious: one of Elrond's cordials, and I did not expect to have to use it so soon.''

Boromir snorted – despite his lengthy stay in Rivendale(6) he had not grown fond of Elven beverages, believing firmly that they could not even come near to Ond's good red wine. Nevertheless, he did as he was told. As soon as Frodo had swallowed a little of the potent cordial, he felt new strength of heart, and the heavy sleepiness left his limbs. The others revived as quickly.

Boromir now endeavoured to clear away the snow and make a free space under the rock-wall. Finding his hands and feet slow tools, and his sword not much better, he took a faggot from the fuel that they carried on one of the ponies, in case they should need fire in places where there was no wood. He bound it tight and he used it as a ram to thrust back the soft snow, til it was packed hard into a wall before them and could not be pushed further away. Merry and Faramond stared at him with open-mouthed admiration – in their eyes the Prince of Ond seemed like the snow-giants from the North in the old tales their nanny told them in the nursery.

For the moment things looked better, and in the small cleared space the travellers stood and took short paces, stamping to keep their limbs awake. But the snow continued to fall unrelenting; and it became plain that they were likely enough to be all buried in snow again before the night was out.

''What about a fire?'' said Trotter suddenly. ''As for giving ourselves away: personally I think our whereabouts is pretty well known or guessed already – by somebody.''

''I am all for a dry and warm place,'' grumbled Gimli; ''still, it would do no good to lure the evil spies of the Enemy closer to our camp. If there is some hope, even a slight one, that they might _not_ exactly know where we are, we would give up an advantage – and we have not that many of those.''

''That might be so,'' the Princess replied, ''yet I do agree with Ingold son of Ingrim nevertheless. Our first concern should be the Ring-bearer, and he would _not_ survive the night without a fire.''

Gimli wanted to argue, but a look at the quivering hobbit who clearly reached the end of his strength silenced him. They decided to light a fire if they could, even if it meant sacrificing all the fuel that they had with them. The Princess was right, certainly. They needed to keep Frodo safe and as comfortable as it was possible on this evil journey. The fate of the whole Middle-earth lay in the small, trembling hand of the little one.

However, it taxed even Gandalf's power to kindle the wet wood in that windy place. Ordinary methods were of no use, though each of the travellers had tinder and flint. They had brought some fir cones and little bundles of dried grass for kindling, but no fire would catch in them. Finally, Gandalf gave in to the Princess Dolenganeien's gentle urging and  thrust his wand into the midst of them and caused a great spark of blue and green flame to spring out.

''Well, if any enemy is watching'', he said, ''that will give _me_ away. Let us hope other eyes are as blinded by the storm as ours. But anyway a fire is a good thing to see.''

''You have done the right thing, Master Wizard,'' the Princess murmured. ''No matter how great the risk, we had to take it, in order to save the Ring-bearer.''

''I would never question your wisdom, noble Princess,'' the wizard answered, bowing towards her in respect. For a moment he was even grateful for the bitter cold that coloured his cheeks blue-ish, hiding effectively that fact that he was blushing.

The wood now burned merrily and kept a clear circle all round it in which the travellers gathered somewhat heartened; but looking round Gandalf saw anxious eyes revealed by the dancing flames. The wood was burning fast, and the snow was not yet lessening.

''Daylight will soon be showing'', said Gandalf as cheerily as he could, but added: ''if any daylight can get through the snowclouds.''

''The Sun is walking in the blue fields of the South, and a little wreath of snow on this Ruddyhorn hillock troubles her not at all(7),'' the Princess murmured softly. ''We are fortunate to have Boromir of Ond with us – a mountaineer who knows his way around snow and stone.''

'Twas now Boromir's turn to blush, for a praise of such a lovely lady was not a thing that would leave his pride untouched. Yet the fire burned low and the last faggot was thrown on, and the hearts of the others sank again. Finally Trotter stood up and stared into the blackness above. 

''I believe it is getting less'', Trotter said. Boromir scowled – the Ranger understood not half of the mountains that he did.

''You are right about that, Ranger,'' the Princess said, giving Trotter an encouraging look. ''The others might not see it yet, but it seems your eyes are Elven-keen.''

That caught the interest of the others, and for a long while they gazed at the flakes coming down out of the darkness, to be revealed for a moment white in the light of the fire; but they could see little difference. The hobbits seemed devastated, and even Gimli began to worry, for despite the Dwarves' love for rocks and mountains, dying in the snow was not a thing they considered desirable.

After a while, however, it became plain that Trotter was right. The flakes became fewer and fewer. The wind grew less. The daylight began to grow pale grey and diffused. Then the snow ceased altogether. Trotter shot a proud and self-satisfied look at Boromir – this time he clearly beat the Prince of Ond, whose eyes lacked the keenness of his own.

As the light grew stronger it showed a shapeless world all about hem. The high places were hid in clouds (that threatened still more snow), but below them they could see dim white hills and domes and valleys in which the path they had come by seemed altogether lost.

''The sooner we make a move, and get down again, the better'', said Trotter. ''There is more snow still to fall up here!''

Every one agreed with him (even Boromir, who greatly disliked the fact that the Ranger tried to make himself the leader of their Company). They could not risk another night upon the knee of the Ruddyhorn.

But much as they all desired to get down again it was easier to speak of it than to manage it. The snow round about was already some feet deep: up to the necks of the hobbits and over their heads in places; and it was still soft. If they had had northern sledges or snowshoes they would have been of little use. Gandalf could only just manage to get forward with labour, more like swimming (and burrowing) than walking. Only the Elves were able to walk upon the snow, at least by themselves, yet not with the added weight of their companions, not even the hobbits.

Boromir was the tallest of the party: being some six feet high and broad-shouldered as well(8). He went ahead a little way to test the path. The snow was everywhere above even his knees, and in many places he sank up to the waist. The situation looked fairly desperate.

''I will go down if I can'', he said. ''As far as I can make out our course of last night, the path seems to turn right round a shoulder of rock down there. And if I remember rightly, a furlong or two below the turn we ought to come on to a flat space at the top of a long steep slope – very heavy going it was coming up. From there I may be able to get some view and some idea of how the snow lies further down.''

He struggled forward slowly, and after a while disappeared round the turn. Merry and Faramond cuddled together, sending anxious and admiring looks after him. _Never_ had they met anyone this big, strong and impressive. Their little hearts were full of fondness for the Man – and full of concern about what might befall him further down.

It was nearly an hour before Boromir came back, tired but with some encouraging news. ''There is a deep wind drift just the other side of the turn, and I was nearly buried in it; but beyond that the snow quickly gets less. At the top of the slope it is no more than ankle-deep and it is only sprinkled on the ground from there down: or so it seems.''

''It may be only sprinkled further down'', grunted Gandalf; ''but it is not sprinkled up there. Even the snow seems to have been aimed specially at us.''

''How are _we_ to get to the turn?'' asked Faramond, turning wide, admiring eyes at the Man who had just fought the snow.

''I do not know!'' Boromir snarled in annoyance, for the Princess seemed a lot less impressed by his heroic deed than the hobbits were. ''It is a pity Gandalf cannot produce flame enough to melt us a pathway.''

''I daresay it is,'' snapped Gandalf; the constant bickering of the Prince of Ond was getting on his nerves. ''But even I need a few materials to work upon, I can kindle fire, not feed it. What you want is a dragon not a wizard.''

''Indeed I think a tame dragon would actually be more useful at the moment than a wild wizard,'' said Boromir – with a cruel laugh that did not in any way appease Gandalf.

''At the moment, at the moment,'' he replied with dangerously glittering eyes. ''Later on we may see. I am old enough to be your great-grandfathers ancestor – but I am not doddery yet. It will serve you right if you meet a wild dragon.''

''Well, well! _When heads are at loss bodies must serve_ they say in my country,'' said Boromir, who had no great faith in the wizard's abilities – the old man seemed but some trickster compared with the Princess. ''We must just try and thrust our way through. Put the little folk on the ponies, two on each. I will carry the smallest; you go behind, Gandalf, and I will go in front.'' At once he set about unloading the ponies of their burdens. ''I will come back for these when we have forced a passage'', he said.

Trotter was not happy with the Prince of Ond taking over command, but he had to admit that the advice was sound. So they began preparations for the dangerous descent at once.

Frodo and Sam were mounted on one of the ponies, Merry and Gimli on the other. Then picking Faramond Boromir strode forward, while the hobbit clung to him in absolute bliss, wrapping short but surprisingly strong arms around his neck with a ferocity that nearly made him choke. Slowly they ploughed their way forward. It took some time to reach the bend, but they did so without mishap.

After a short halt they laboured on to the edge of the drift. Suddenly Boromir stumbled on some hidden stone, and fell headlong. Faramond was thrown from his shoulder into deep snow and disappeared. The pony behind reared and then fell so, tumbling both Frodo and Sam into the drift. Gimli, however, managed to hold back the second pony, to the great relief of Legolas, who forgot all of his carefully-kept guise and ran down upon the snow to save him if necessary. The Princess was running hot at his heels.

For some moments all was confusion. But Boromir got up, shaking the snow from his face and eyes, and went to the head of the floundering and kicking pony. When he had got it onto its feet again, he went to the rescue of the hobbits who had vanished into deep holes in the yielding snow. Picking up first Faramond and then Frodo he ploughed his way through the remainder of the drift and set them on their feet beyond. He then returned for the pony and Sam.

''Follow now in my track!'' he cried to the remaining three. ''The worst is over!''

At last they all came to the head of the long slope, Gandalf bowed to Boromir. ''If I was testy'', he said, ''forgive me. Even the wisest wizard does not like to see his plans go awry. Thank goodness for plain strength and good sense.''

''We are grateful to you, Boromir of Ond,'' the Princess Dolenganeien added with a sweet smile that was almost enough to melt all the snow around them.

They looked out from the high place where they stood over the lands. Daylight was now as full as it would be, unless the heavy clouds were broken. Far below, and over the tumbled country falling away from the foot of the incline, Frodo thought he could see the dell from which they had started to climb the night before. His legs ached and his head was dizzy as he thought of the long painful march down again. In the distance, below him but still high above the lower hills, he saw many black specks moving in the air.

''The birds again'', he said in a quivering voice, pointing.

''It cannot be helped now'', said Gandalf. ''Whether they are good or bad, or nothing to do with us, we must go on down at once.''

''Fear not'', the Princess said in a soft yet powerful voice, ''for the birds cannot see us, no matter how hard they try. The Veil of Yavanna shall protect us from their prying eyes.'' The wind was blowing stiffly again over the pass hidden in the clouds behind; and already some snowflakes were drifting down. They set on the long, shining black hair of the beautiful she-Elf, twinkling like tiny diamonds and gave her an otherworldly look.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was late in the afternoon, and the grey light was already again waning fast when they got back to their camp of the previous night. They were weary and very hungry. The mountains were veiled in a deepening dusk full of snow: even there in the foothills snow was falling gently. The birds had vanished.

They had no fuel for a fire, and made themselves as warm as they could with all their spare furs and blankets. Gandalf spared them each one more mouthful of the cordial. When they had eaten, Gandalf called a council.

''We cannot of course go on again tonight'', he said. ''We all need a good rest, and I think we had better stay here till tomorrow evening.''

''And when we move where are we to go to?'' asked Boromir, scowling. ''It is no use trying the pass again; but you said yourself last night in this very spot that we could not now cross the passes further north because of winter, nor further south because of enemies.''

''There is no need to remind me'', said Gandalf. ''The choice is now between going on with our journey – by some road or other – or returning to Rivendale.''

The faces of the hobbits revealed plainly enough the pleasure they felt at the mere mention of returning to Rivendale. Sam's face brightened visibly, and he glanced at his master. But Frodo looked troubled.

''I wish I was back in Rivendale'', he acknowledged. ''But would not that be going back also on all that was spoken and decided there?'' he asked.

''Yes'', replied the Princess with a sorrowful look on her beautiful face. ''Our journey was already delayed perhaps too long. After the winter it would be quite vain. If we return it will mean the siege of Rivendale, and likely enough its fall and destruction.''

''Then we must go on'', said Frodo with a sigh, and Sam sank back into gloom. ''We must go on – if there is any road to take.''

''There is, or there may be'', said Gandalf. ''But I have not mentioned it to you before, and have hardly even thought of it while there was hope of the pass of Cris-caron. For 'tis not a pleasant road.''

''If it is worse than the pass of Cris-caron it must be very nasty indeed'', said Merry. ''But you had better now tell us about it.''

''Have you ever heard of the Mines of Moria or the Black Gulf?'' asked Gandalf.

''Yes,'' answered Frodo. ''I think so. I seem to remember Bilbo speaking of them long ago, when he told me tales of the Dwarves and Goblins. But I have no idea where they are.''

''They are not far away,'' said the Princess thoughtfully. ''They are in these mountains. They were made by the Dwarves of Durin's clan many hundreds of years ago, when Elves dwelt in Hollin, and there was peace between the two races. In those ancient days Durin dwelt in Caron-dún, and there was traffic on the Great River. But the Goblins – fierce Orcs in great number – drove them out after many wars, and most of the Dwarves that escaped removed far into the North. They have often tried to regain these mines, but never so far as I know have they succeeded.''

''King Thrór was killed there after he fled from Dale when the dragon came, as you may remember from Bilbo's tales,'' Gandalf took over the tale, much to the dismay of the Princess who feared that the old man would waste valuable time with chatting again. ''As Glóin told us, the Dwarves of Dale think Balin came here, but no news has come from him.''

''How can the mines of the Black Gulf help us?'' asked Boromir. ''It sounds a name of ill-omen.''

''It is so, or has become so'', answered Gandalf, warming up for the topic again. '''But one must tread the path need chooses. If there are Orcs in the mines, it will prove ill for us. But most of the Goblins of the Misty mountains were destroyed in the Battle of Five Armies at the Lonely Mountain. There is a chance that the mines are still deserted. There is even a chance that Dwarves are there, and that Balin lives in secret in some deep hall. If either of these chances prove true, then we may get through. For the mines go right through and under this western arm of the mountains. The tunnels of Moria were of old the most famous in the northern world. There were two secret gates on the western side, though the chief entrance was on the East looking upon Caron-dún(9). I passed right through, many years ago, when I was looking for Thrór and Thráin. But I have never been since – I have never wished to repeat the experience.''

''And I do not wish for it even once'', said Merry.

''Nor me'', muttered Sam.

''O course not'', said Gandalf. ''Who would? But the question is, will you follow me if I take the risk?''

''There was no answer for some time. ''How far are the western gates?'' asked Frodo at length.

''About ten(10) miles south of Cris-caron'', said Trotter.

''Then you know of Moria?'' said Frodo, looking at him in surprise.

''Yes, I know of the mines'', said Trotter quietly. ''I went there once, and the memory is evil; but if you want to know, I was always in favour of trying that way rather than the open pass(11). I will follow Gandalf – though I should have followed him more willingly if we could have come to the gate of Moria more secretly.''

''Well, come now'', said Gandalf. ''I would not put such a choice to you if there were any hope in other roads, or any hope in retreat. Will you try Moria or go back to Rivendale?''

There was a long silence. The members of the Company looked questioningly at each other, save the Princess, who wanted not to influence any of them with her extraordinarily strong will. She knew well the perils of both ways and that fate cannot be defeated, no matter what one tried. So she remained silent, her heart already grieving for the losses her foresight had showed her clearly.

''We must risk the mines'', Frodo finally said, and despair sank down upon their hearts like a black cloud.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) ''Misplaced Goddess'', according to Barrowdowns. Not very original, I know. shrugs

(2) Sorry to disappoint anybody, but this is as far as I am willing to go with the Hobbits/Big People thing.

(3) Yes, I know that it is called Elvish. Please, give me some credit. But in a badfic I have to misspell the name of Tolkien's fairest creatures at least once. It is obligatory.

(4) I just realized that a description like this had still been missing from my collection. Sooner or later, I will mention his creamy skin, too. I promise. 'Tis just too cold for that at the moment.

(5) In the same passage of FOTR the date is 12 January; the Company had left Rivendale on 25 December, and so had been in the wilderness for nineteen nights. But in the original story the journey was shorter: ''when they had been about ten days on the road, the weather grew better'', whereas FOTR has ''a fortnight''.

(6) Yea, it was high time that I misspelled Rivendell's name as well. I cannot understand how I never did that before. bows head in shame

(7) Yes, I know where that sentence is from. I just could not resist, all right?

(8) At least before the Great Maker cut him shorter, in order to make Aragorn more impressive. Gah! (Yes, I prefer Boromir. And?)

(9) In an even earlier version it is said that ''the Dwarves of Caron-dún sent their goods down the Great River''.

(10) In FOTR 15 miles. At some point there were 20.

(11) In the earlier drafts it was Trotter who preferred the way through Moria, not Gandalf.


	12. Chapter 11: Secrets and Spells

**THE JOYS OF A BEARD**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.**

**Rating: PG, for some secret Elf-Dwarf interaction and the perilous use of earth magic.**

**Summary: They reach the Doors of Moria – what now?**

**Author's notes: **

Quotes are from "The Return of the Shadow" (HoME 6) and "The Treason of Isengard" (HoME 7). I also borrowed a few lines from the script of the extended FOTR-movie – thanks to the people who posted it on the Council of Elrond website. Yes, I am stealing lines like my own Sue. Is that a problem?

As always, my sincerest thanks go to Nemis for beta-reading.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER 11:  SECRETS AND SPELLS 

Next day the weather changed again, almost as if it obeyed the orders of some power that had now given up the idea of snow, since they had retreated from Cris-caron. The wind had turned southward in the night. In the morning it was veering west, and rain was beginning to fall. The travellers pitched a tent in a sheltered hollow and remained quiet all the day till the afternoon was drawing towards evening.

There was some whispered quarrelling between Trotter and the Prince of Ond about who should guard the resting Princess closely, but Gandalf solved that problem by ordering them all out and taking the delicate task upon himself, much to their dismay. Frodo and Sam huddled together in the far end of the tent, and Merry and Faramond burrowed themselves under Boromir's cloak once more. The big Man growled a little, while shooting dark looks at the wizard, but allowed them to warm themselves – and him as well – until it was time to go on.

All the day they had heard no sound and seen no sign of any living thing. As soon as the light began to fade they started off again. A heavy rain was still falling, and it troubled them greatly, soaking their hair and garments, 'til they all smelled like wet dogs – with the exception of the Elven siblings, of course, who managed to smell of spring forest, even in this foul weather. Legolas rumpled his nose rather demonstratively about what he called 'the stench of the Dwarf', which earned him spiteful looks from his sister and a long row of grumbled oaths from Gimli. In Khuzdul. The purpose  of which was, of course, to make Legolas all hot and bothered, without the others knowing of its true effects.

From that morn on, Princess Vorannoniel(1) took over leadership from the exhausted wizard who still needed to recharge his powers after fighting the Cris-caron. She led them on a detour away from the Mountains, for though she had never seen this side of the Misty Mountains before, she was better aided by the whispers of the Earth under her small feet than Gandalf was by his rather confused memory.

Truth to be told, it was the wizard who took the lead first, claiming that the way was a known one for him. But it seemed that at some point or other he must have gone astray in the dark, for it was a black night under an overcast sky. In any case, they did not strike the stream, and morning found them wandering and floundering in wet and marshy places filled with red pools, for there was much clay in the hollows(2).

The Princess, seeing the miserably crumpled face of the freezing hobbits, especially that of the Ringbearer, whose bow-shaped rosebud lips were coloured bluish by the foul weather, and whose cerulean orbs were barely visible, turning heavenwards in a mute plea, finally decided to intervene, regardless of the drain such strong earth-magic would cause her fragile strength – a strength that was more that of the valiant spirit than that of sinew and bone.

Thus she called a halt and led them under the poor protection of a lonely pine tree, so that the rain could not pound down them quite so mercilessly as it did before, and there she asked Gandalf to put the few pieces of deadwood they picked up around the tree in fire. Once the first tiny flames kissed the wet twigs, she pulled out a small leather purse from her bosom and spread some of the strangely gleaming, grey powder that was kept in it, into the fire. At the same time she began to sing softly, in a voice so sweet and silvery-beautiful that the hearts of all Men and hobbits around her began to ache gently.

"What is she doing?" Gimli asked, a suspicious furrow marring his broad forehead, for he could feel the sweet magic of the song tugging on his heart, against his will.

"Mastering the weather," Legolas answered in a low whisper, sliding his slender hand in the breaches of his love, in order to keep him distracted. "_And_ she is trying to charm you at the same time."

"Can she do that?" asked the Dwarf, shivering under the clever ministrations of the Elf's nimble fingers.

"Mastering the weather?" Legolas' other hand found its way under the wet beard of the Dwarf, caressing that particular ticklish spot between the high collar of the mail shirt and the strong jawline. "Surely she can. She is the High Priestess of Yavanna, and now that the seal of her body has been broken, her power barely has any limits(3). As for wooing you? Over my dead body!"

Torn between the magic song of the Princess and Legolas' wicked hands driving him crazy, all Gimli could do was not to groan loudly. Fortunately for them, every one else seemed focussed on the magic enfolding before their very eyes – though Sam _did_ give them one or two strange looks.

For a few moments nothing happened. Then suddenly the Princess stretched her slim body heavenwards, with her arms raised, as if she would lift off from the restraints of mere matter in any moment, and at once the clouds broke and the rain stopped. The sun came out in gleams. The hobbits broke out in delighted little cries (that served Gimli well, for they helped to conceal his low grunts of delight), and the Princess swooned into the eager arms of Trotter, worn out from the perilous strength of magic she had to wield.

Trotter and Boromir wanted to spend the rest of the day right where they were, so that the Princess could recover a little, but Gandalf was fretted by the delay, and decided to move on again by day, after only a few hours' rest. Once again, he took back leadership, while Trotter and Boromir carried the fainted Princess in their strong arms and Frodo all but sleepwalked between them, completely enchanted by the delicate yet oh so powerful Elven beauty who had taken such great pains for their comfort.

They steered now straight back towards the mountains, but both Gandalf and Trotter were much puzzled by their failure to find the stream. They were of two minds about the right direction, so Boromir ended up with carrying the Princess all by himself, and the dark, lusting looks he cast his sweet burden made Frodo feel very uncomfortable. Wisely, he decided against mentioning aught, however, for he had realized by now that – for some reason he failed to understand – Sam seemed to have no good feelings for their selfless saviour, and his young cousins were completely enthralled by the Prince of Ond, particularly Faramond.

Finally, Gandalf and Trotter agreed on a path, and after a while they had come back again to the foothills and lower slopes they encountered a narrow watercourse in a deep channel; but it was dry, and there was now no water among the reddish stones in the bed. There _was_, however, still something like an open path on the left bank. They stopped at once and looked at each other in askance. Or, to be more correct, every one of them looked at Gandalf, who once again seemed at a loss.

Fortunately for them all, the Princess awoke from her deep stupor by then and recognized the place from her visions of old.

"That is where the stream used to run, I feel sure," she said to Gandalf. "Sirannon, the Gatestream they used to call it, or so I hear. And I believe our road lies up this course," she pointed out the path on the other side.

The night was now falling, but though they were already tired, especially the hobbits, Gandalf urged them to press on. So, on they went, with slurring feet but rising hopes, into the deepening darkness.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Before the night was old the moon, now only two days off the full(4), rose through the clouds that lay on the eastern peaks, and shone fitfully down over the western lands. They trudged on with their weary feet stumbling among the stones, until suddenly they came to a wall of rock some thirty feet high. Over it ran a trickling fall of water, but plainly the fall had once been much stronger.

"Ah! Now I know where we are!" cried Gandalf. "This is where the Stair-falls were. I wonder what happened to them. But if I am right there is a stairway cut in the stone at the left: the main path goes further round and up an incline. There is or was a wide and shallow valley above the falls through which the Sirannon flowed."

Very soon they found the stairway, and followed by Frodo and Trotter Gandalf climbed quickly up. When they got to the top they discovered the reason of the drying up of the stream.

The moon was now sinking westwards. It shone out brightly for a while, and they saw stretched before their feet a dark still lake, glinting in the moonlight. The Gate-stream had been dammed, and had filled all the valley. Only a trickle of water escaped over the old falls, for the main outlet of the lake was now away at the southern end, from whence they heard the splash of running water.

Before them, dim and grey across the dark water, stood a vast cliff face, sheer and brooding, rising above them and before them, away into the mists. The moonlight lay pale upon it, and it looked cold and forbidding: a final obstruction to all passage. Frodo could see no sign of any gate or entrance in the frowning stone.

"This way is blocked," said Gandalf, stating the obvious unhappily. "At least as far as it can be seen at night.

"We must try and find a way round by the main path then," the Princess urged.  "We cannot swim across the lake by moonlight – or any other light. It has an unwholesome look...

They had not great difficulty in finding the old path. It turned away from the falls and wound northward for some way, before bending east again, and climbed up a long slope. When they reached the top of this they saw the lake lying on the right. The path skirted its very edge, but was not submerged. For the most part it was just above the water; but in one place, at the northernmost end of the lake, where there was a slimy and stagnant pool, it disappeared for a short distance, before bending south again toward the foot of the great cliff.

 "Well, here we are at last!'' said Gandalf. "This is the end of our path – and now I am afraid we must say farewell to our ponies. The good beasts would go almost everywhere we told them to; but I do not think we could get them to go into the dark passages of Moria. And in any case there are behind the west gate many steep stairs, and many difficult and dangerous places where ponies could not pass, or would be a perilous handicap. If we are to win through we must travel lighter. Much of the stuff we have brought against bitter weather will not be wanted inside, now when we get to the other side and turn south."

When each member of the party had been given a share according to his size – most of the foodstuffs and the waterskins – the remainder was secured again on the ponies' backs. In each bundle Gandalf put a brief message to Elrond written in secret runes, telling him of the snowstorm and their turning aside to Moria.

Then Sam and Trotter led the ponies off.

"Now let us have a look at the gates!" said Gandalf.

"I do not see any gates," said Merry.

"Dwarf-gates are invisible when closed," grunted Gimli, inwardly cursing the secretive ways of his people, certain that – being the only Dwarf present – the others would blame _him_ for this new and rather unpleasant obstacle.

Truth be told, the Men looked at him sourly enough, and the hobbits gave small, miserable noises, especially the Ringbearer whose lower lip began trembling again. But the Princess smiled at the Dwarf sweetly, as if Gimli had just proved his worthiness in a small but significant matter.

"Yes, Gimli," she said in that soft, singsong voice of hers, "and their own masters cannot find them if their secret is lost."

"Why does that not surprise me?" murmured Legolas softly, ignoring the Dwarf's grumble (they _had_ to pretend as if they were bantering all the time) and the rather… unpleasant look his sister shot him.

"Nevertheless," she added sweetly, "these particular doors have been made for the use of Elves, therefore I doubt that they would have been a secret. 'Tis said among our people that they are of some silver substance that is seen only when touched by one who knows certain words – at night under the moon they shine most bright."

And she gave the still tarrying wizard a pointed look – such a dangerously dark one, indeed, that Frodo involuntarily backed off towards the lake, his foot splashing into shallow water. He pulled his leg back with a gasp and looked up at his surroundings. Framing the great pool, beside the rock face, there still stood some gnarled old trees, with dead branches bearded with moss hanging damp above the water.

Gandalf approached the rock between two twisted trees, running his hand over the cliff face, and as the travellers stared at it, it seemed to them that on the surface where Gandalf's hand had passed faint lines appeared like slender veins of silver running in the stone.

"Now... let us see," he murmured, trying to remember some forgotten piece of old lore "_Ithildin_… It mirrors only starlight... and moonlight.

He looked up at the black night sky; the moon appeared. Framed by the sharp shadows of the two trees, the silvery lines grew bright, shining with sheer white light. They outlined a door formed of two columns beneath an arch with a star in the centre. Writing in a strange tongue appeared in the arch. Gimli stared in awe at the gate of his forefathers, forgetting even his sweet Elf for a faithless moment.

"These are the emblems of Durin and of the Elves," said Gandalf, pointing with his gnarled staff. "Now you can see that we have certainly found the west gate of Moria."

"What does the writing say?" asked Frodo, who was trying to puzzle out the inscription. "I thought I knew the Elf-letters, but I cannot read these, they are so tangled."

"Nothing of much importance to us," said Gandalf. "At least not the opening-spell, if that is what you are thinking. They merely say: The doors of Durin Lord of Moria. Speak friends and enter. And underneath very small and now faint is: Narfi made them.(5) Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.''

"What does it mean by 'speak friends and enter'?" asked Frodo.

"That is plain enough,'' the Princess said, rolling her shining eyes. "If you are friends speak the password, and then the door will open and you can enter."

"Indeed," Gandalf nodded, ashamed that such an easy answer eluded him at first. " Some Dwarf-gates will open only at special times, of for particular persons; and some have keys and locks which are necessary even when all other conditions are fulfilled. In the days of Durin these gates were not secret: they usually stood open and door-wards sat here. But if they were shut anyone who knew the opening words could speak them and pass in."

"Do you know them then?"

"No!" admitted Gandalf, casting an uncomfortable look at the Princess.

The others looked surprised and dismayed – all except Trotter, who knew Gandalf very well.

"Then what was the use of bringing us here?" asked Boromir wrathfully.

"And how did you get in when you explored the Mines, as you told us just now?" asked Frodo.

"The answer to your question, Boromir," said the wizard, "is that I know not – not yet. But we shall soon see; and,'' he added with a glint in his eyes under bristling brows, "you can start being uncivil, when it proved useless: not before. As for your question," he said, turning sharply on Frodo, "the answer is obvious: I did not enter this way. I came from the East. If it interests you I may add that these doors open _outwards with a push, but nothing can open them inwards. They can swing out, or they can be broken, if you have enough force."_

"What are you going to do then?" asked Merry,(6) who was not much disturbed by Gandalf's bristling brows; and in his heart hoped that the door would prove impossible to open.

"I am going to try and find the opening words. I once knew every formula and spell in any language of Elves, Dwarves or Goblins that was ever used for such purposes", the wizard explained haughtily, casting a lopsided look at the Princess in the hope of impressing her. "I can still remember two or three hundreds without racking my brains. But I think only a few trials should be necessary. The opening words were in Elvish, like the written words – I feel certain: from the signs on the doors, from the holly trees, and because of the use for which the road and gates were originally made."

He stepped up to the rock and lightly touched the silver star that was near the middle of the emblems with his wand, just above the crown, saying:

_"Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen!" (7) The Doors, however, remained closed. The wizard raised both his hands and his voice._

_"Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen."(8) Faramond, snuggled against Boromir's leg, looked up to him accusingly._

"Nothing is happening," he stated unhappily Gandalf glanced at him at him, slightly annoyed. He began to push on the doors, but they remained fast. Faramond tilted his head on the side, curiosity overcoming his fear.

"What are you doing?"

"Knock your head against these doors, Faramond Took!" Gandalf cried angrily. "And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."

Time passed around. The rest of the Fellowship got seated around the doors near the lake, waiting for Gandalf to open them. Night was deepening, and they lost hope quickly. Frodo crept closer to the Princess, whispering:

"Surely, Lady Airehirwen(9), you could do something to help Gandalf opening the Doors?"

"'Tis not that easy, Master Baggins," the Princess sighed. "You see, I am not allowed to help, unless he asks me. And he is too proud and too stubborn to do so."

Frodo thought about that for a while, then a sly smile spread over his thin Elvish face. "Are you allowed then to help _me if I asked?"_

The Princess gave him an approving look. This little maggot was not as dumb as he looked. "That I am allowed to do, indeed," she answered. "Now, think of it as a riddle, Ringbearer…"

Gandalf, in the meantime, was sounding decidedly weary. _"Ando Eldarinwa...a lasta quettanya, Fenda Casarinwa..."_ (10)

Trotter, wanting to do something useful while the wizard struggled with the stubborn Gates, was unhitching the last of the ponies' bridle. "The Mines are no place for a pony," he explained a grief-stricken Sam with every bit of patience he managed to bring forth; "even one so brave as Bill."

"Buh-bye Bill," Sam stuttered, blowing his nose rather loudly in a large brown tissue. Trotter rolled his eyes. The ceaseless whimpering of the hobbits was becoming tiresome. And what was even worse, that whiny little Ringbearer was occupying the company of the Princess once again."

"Go on, Bill, go on", he murmured, giving the old pony a less-than-affectionate slap on the bony backside. "Don't worry Sam, he knows the way home and will bring the others safely away from this dread place."

As if he had heard Trotters rather unfriendly thoughts, Frodo rose and walked forth, sitting down near the Doors. Merry, growing bored and impatient, began to throw stones into the water. Leaving Boromir's side Faramond followed suit. Trotter jerked around in utter annoyance.

"Do not disturb the water!" He bit back the curse that nearly followed. The hobbits were young fools who had no idea about the true perils of this journey. Not for the first time he wished that Elrond _had, indeed, sent them home in a sack._

"Oh, 'tis useless!" the wizard dropped his staff and sat down beside Frodo, pulling off his hat. Boromir was smiling broadly but not very pleasantly behind his back.

"It looks as if we may be wanting those ponies back,'' he said in and undertone. "It would have been wiser to have kept them till the gates were open." If Gandalf heard he made no sign. Frodo, however, stood up and looked at the writings of the glimmering gateway intently.

"'Tis a riddle," he murmured as if the thought had just occurred to him.

However, none but Gandalf listened to him. The water of the lake began to ripple ominously, and that was what the rest of the Fellowship watched. Frodo kept thinking aloud, as if talking to himself. Since he did this fairly often, the other Hobbits ignored him with practiced ease. No mumblings of any "mad Baggins" were ever worth listening to. Only Sam stared at him with big, adoring eyes. For him, every uttering of his master was the quintessence of ultimate wisdom.

"Speak 'friend' and enter," Frodo murmured. "What's the Elvish word for friend?"

The water shivers again, but Gandalf noticed it not, nor did he remember in his distress that Frodo spoke Elvish well enough to know such simple words.

"_Mellon_..." he answered distractedly, and the Princess gave the Ring-bearer an encouraging smile that nearly caused Frodo to swoon off his hairy feet.

Without any forewarning, the stone doors slowly swung open, rumbling deeply and revealing a dark, gaping hole in the belly of the Mountains. The others turned away from the dark pool, staring at this new darkness in mistrust. No-one felt like entering the unlit cave. The wizard groaned, and rummaging through his bundle he brought forth a rough-hewn crystal, placing it into the gnarled roots topping his staff. 

"Ai! One of the Seven Stones of Saranac!(11)" the Princess whispered in awe. "They are said to contain the light of the Valacirca(12) and can shine in complete darkness. There were rumours that some of them were sent to Middle-earth as aids against the Darkness, but I never heard that the wizards would have them…"

Which thought she obviously disliked, and for his part, Frodo could not blame her. Such wondrous and powerful jewels should have belonged in her graceful hands, not into the gnarled paws of Gandalf. The wizard frowned… not even the royal Houses of Elves were supposed to know about the Seven Stones of Saranac – but who could know what other secret wisdom the Priestesses of Yavanna still guarded?

"Let us enter the mine," he said, avoiding an answer for the time being, "we have but little time."

The others obeyed, although rather hesitantly. No-one truly wanted to enter the Black Pit… except Gimli, of course. Aside of his hope to meet his long-lost cousins again, he also looked forward to some undisturbed quality time with his Elf in the dark. Trotter followed last, casting a last suspicious glance at the waters.

The moonlight flooded into the shadowy rock chamber through the open doors. Led by Gandalf, hat and staff in hand, they moved towards the inky blackness at the far end of the chamber. Gimli felt enthusiastic.

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves!" he boasted.  "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin." Legolas' only answer was a raised eyebrow. For his part, he would have preferred some cozy dark chambers… and some privacy.

Gandalf brought his hand around his staff, blowing upon the crystal as though to kindle the rock into light. It glowed, as though from some inner strength. Its light mirrored in the dark eyes of the Princess – eyes that were glimmering like stars and shining brighter than the crystal itself. For a moment Gandalf seemed to forget what he was about to do, but then he leant the staff towards the dark halls ahead, dimly illuminating some dirty, broken stairs and columns, upon which many dark forms were tumbled.

Gimli still paid no attention to his surroundings, so eager he was to describe his Elf the greatness of his people's place and the pleasures that would await them.

"And they call it a mine," he said, rolling his small, dark eyes in exasperation. "A mine!"

At that very moment Frodo felt something seize his ankle and he fell. At the same moment Sam and Trotter who had just come back gave a yell as they ran up. Turning suddenly the others saw that a long arm, sinuous as a tentacle, was thrust out from the lake's dark edge. It was pale green-grey and wet: its fingered end had a hold of Frodo's foot and was dragging him towards the water.

Sam dashed up with a drawn knife and slashed at it. The fingers let go of Frodo and Sam dragged him away; but immediately the waters of the lake began to heave and boil, and twenty more writhing arms came rippling out, making for the travellers as if directed by something in the deep pools that could see them all.

"Into the gateway! Quick! Up the stairs!" shouted Gandalf, rousing them from the horror that held them routed.

There was just time. Gandalf, not caring whether the others followed him inside, and then sprang back upon the heels of Boromir, but he was no more than four steps up when the crawling fingers of the dweller in the pool reached the cliff. The Princess grabbed Legolas' bow that had been thrown carelessly to the floor when the Doors finally opened, and began to shoot arrows at the fell creature in the dark water, hitting her target each time unerringly.

But the great bow, made for a male archer, exhausted her strength rapidly, so with a parting shot she leapt up the broken steps, straight into the strong arms of Trotter who pulled her into safety. The Hobbits stumbled over each other, eager to follow her as quickly as they could, each of them trying to get to a safe distance first.

Legolas at least came running up, gasping for breath, with his drawn knife in his hand and talking wildly in the Elvish tongue. He had been distracted  by the deep, sonorous rumble of his Dwarf and barely managed to reach them in time. He sprang over the tentacles that were already fingering the cliff wall; Gimli grasped him by the hand and dragged him inside.(13)

Gandalf paused on the steps. But if he was pondering on how to close the door, or what word would move them from within, there was no need. For the arms seized the door, and with dreadful strength swung it round. With a shattering echo it slammed behind them; and they halted on the stairs in dismay as the sounds of rending and crashing came dolly through the stoned from outside. Gandalf ran down to the door and thrust up and spoke the words, but though the door groaned, it did not stir.

"I am afraid the door is blocked behind us now," he said, stating the obvious once again, which caused Boromir to roll his eyes in silent suffering, even though no-one could see it in the twilight of the cave. "If I guess right, the trees are thrown down across it, and boulders have been rolled against it. I am sorry for the trees – they were beautiful and old and had stood there so long. Well now, we can only go on – there is nothing left to do."

"I am mighty glad I saw those poor beasts safe first," said Sam, petting the trembling hand of his Master soothingly.

"I felt that something evil was near," said Frodo. "What was it, Gandalf?"

"I could not say," admitted Gandalf reluctantly, for he hated to look like a fool in the eyes of the Princess. "There was not time enough to look at the arms. They all belong to one creature, I should say, from the way they moved – but that is all I can say."

"Something that has crept, or been driven out of the dark waters under ground," the Princess said, still panting heavily from the fight. "There are older and fouler things than goblins in the dark places of the world."

She did not speak aloud the thought that the Dweller in the Pool had not seized on Frodo among all the party by accident. There was no reason to frighten the Ring-bearer out of his meager wits. The Ring had to be destroyed, and if the Hobbit panicked and ran away, there was too much a chance that it would come into the hands of the Enemy's servants.

"We must go on, Mithrandir," she reminded the wizard quietly. "What ever the Dweller in the Pool might be, 'tis unwholesome for us to tarry near the Doors."

To this Gandalf had naught to add. Thus they gathered on the steps, following the pale glow of the wizard's staff, ready to continue their way into the deep darkness of the Mines.

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) Kraken-fodder. Go, Barrowdowns name-generator!

(2) No kidding! That was what Tolkien first envisioned for their way.

(3) Apparently, maiden priestesses of Yavanna need to get laid first, in order to unfold their nearly unlimited powers. Ask me not why. This is one of those strange Wood-Elven things.

(4) It was the night of 5 December, and full moon was on the 7th – at least according to this draft.

(5) Narvi in LOTR.

(6) This line went to Pippin in LOTR.

(7) Gate of the Elves, open now for me! All those opening spells are from the movie, therefore they are not mine – just that it is clear.

(8) Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue.

(9) Means the same: Kraken fodder, just  with a different spelling.

(10)Gate of Elves... listen to my word, Threshold of Dwarves...

(11) The Seven Stones of Saranac do not belong to Tolkien – or me, for that matter. They belong to Isabeau of Greenlea and are mentioned in a totally different context in Ch 25: The Eastfold of her wonderful tale "Captain, My Captain".

(12) The Sickle of the Valar" = the constellation of the Great Bear.

(13) Believe me or not, I am not making this up! It stands thus in the early scripts… well, without the distracting quality of Gimli's voice, of course.


End file.
